Statues Atop The Reichstag

by Rudolf Abbe

 

They are not artless, though all stone is blind.
The forms of intellect and of mere sensation
Diverge, foretokening the rend of tendons
Constraining them. Particular evidence:
Hoofs loosed against the ripples of the clouds
As though disdaining mortal earth to trod on;
The plumes of wings set sovereignly in their places;
The faces, turned to light, are shadowless,
Insensible, where time has found its halt.

Savagery too is meant to be conclusive.
Traveler, if fate has called you, answer.
Here is a fasted figure, skin and bone.
Here is your spade: dig now.