To Claim the Sky

The cathedral of sky empties of prayers
When a pilgrim is wary of the ground again,
Who tiptoes its echoing vaults of wind,
Arched solid as the rains descend.

In the halls of sun, the houses of days,
With twilights burning along the wall,
All is drawn behind the night,
Storming, should one faithful fall.

The darkness is young, wiry of wit,
For raindrops pass in hoods of mist,
Lusting for the gold, the grime
The faithless donned in shadows kissed.

Felled phoenix, daunted in the clear,
The steeple appears long-painted past,
Who is to know the bells still toll
Lest a neighbor lends a feather, at last?