Cusco

Brokeback stone
Of eighty tons
Spiral-stair library
Of dusty tomes
White hands reaching, and in that;
Eternal-
Black wings creaking, for now;
Infernal.
Phantom growl,
Whispers the Street.
Screaming howl;
Stone walls weep.
Immortal-indomitable;
Cathedral proclaims
Fallible-conquered
The Ruin dismays.
The sky scratched by Flagpoles high
In the green-grass Square, the City’s Eye
Three clocks upon the high-stone Churches
None agreeing, and none working.
And in our darling world’s rest,
The Shaman’s whispers portend;
We become the servants of the men of the West,
To become the Kings in the end.
And tho the sun smiles weakly above
The moon weeps at her world undone.