“Daniel? Daniel...of what use are the bones of saints? Of what great interest to me are their dusted stories of day?” I stand at a dreadful distance.
He speaks,
“Silent stones of granite hue;
enveloped now in sacred dew.
Speak somber words of restless hope...
of resurrection.”
I hear the hushings of the wind in a rhythmic silence, and turn to see a friar’s lantern on a distant ridge.”