A vast morning,
Dim white sky.
Starry spirits supplicate themselves to silence.
A misty chill has settled round the steeple cross,
    seeping through the tower's teeth,
    wrapping up the windows and walls
    like a cool cotton wreath
       created of the condensed sighs of ancient stones.
Beneath the cracked foundations,
    dusty dragons with clouded eyes
    wind their way through invisible tunnels.
Soon the spirit of youth will waken,
Spreading into flames of life,
Drinking up the dewy veil,
Crashing through the glassine silence.
Heat of knowledge and rebellion,
Pulse of easy emotion.
All is in anticipation;
Twin staircases blink at each other,
Wooden doors recline on their hinges,
Hallways meditate in prayer.
All is peace.
All is waiting.
All except for me,
Awake and reveling in the
    blank-sky music of morning,
Awake and dreaming in the heavy folds of
    solitude.