The Temple
by Mark Harm

Cradled by snow-touched mountain peaks
Stood an ancient temple to a forgotten god
Standing forth midst winter’s dull light
Like half the sun fallen to earth

Within its cold embrace
Warmth drained by its walls of glass and stone
Its flat mirrored floor eternally reflecting
The endless depths of the night sky

On slim crystal stands
Rest ancient sculptures of ice
Animals locked in life and in death
With no distinction between the two

Hard marble benches wait for the penitent
And those who would gaze upon their god
Whose statue still stands, untouched by time
Before an altar blacked by the burning of sacrifices

The look of peace upon the statue’s face
Is not marred by his sharp fangs or clawed hands
Nor the reddish-brown stains upon his feet