Scaffold

In the sun-warm sandstoneof a dark Gothic cathedralstands a stranger’s steel thronethat is not medieval — with ribs of cold rungs,a scaffold of Babelwith tarpaulin lungs,long tendons of cables. This skeletal mesh of metal and joistswith sinews and flesh of pulleys and hoists holds platelets in view,hale masons with tools,moving up and down torestore the stone rules. But soon this steel manwill fade, leave behindstones marked by new handslike past hands from lost times.