Meteora

Stout, stern, steep
they climb tall and
still through the skies
of Kalampaka

They pierce the clouds
of witnesses
to ancient work
of holy part

Themselves icons
onto glory
they write against
the pastel space

They tell stories
centuries old
of feet too bold
to touch the earth

Yet their feet do
touch the ground and
grow still in force
meek and mild like

the old monks they
hold up and plunge
down perfect prayer
glad with nothing

Magnificent
in their bearing
the stony stems
mount thin air.