Efeze 2

On our way of rambling, turned wheel
of time. We left the marble path
for what it was, into the mountains

to see a little church: some walls,
maimed story, once destroyed, repaired
in honorary after era’s, than devastated.

So is goes. Trends, folks,
sailors, cultures. Children with
deep asking to a supreme being

polished out of stone, father or mother.
Our cry in vain, noise through the centuries,
goddess maligned, town left, harbour

buried for ever in mud. Here through
the echo from raged out throats

some wind along sun heated stones
between de glossing bougainville.