RICHARDUS TREVOR
dressed in white marble
ingrained with dust
resplendent on episcopal throne
gestures us look
at the book
of blank pages

RICHARDUS TREVOR
his achievements
carved in some alien tongue
nestle under his feet
lest I forget
what he wants me to think
that he was
that he is
and ever shall be

RICHARDUS TREVOR
he’s not some Georgian navvy
tossed in an unmarked grave
whose story untold is all mystery
whose space
in the cosmic unfurling
has no chapter
no page reference
no name

but in that enforced embrace
which no statue of marble records
where the grass now lies undisturbed
where the trees dance in time to the wind
I sense all mystery matters
regret a history unseen
feel distaste at bishops
with blank pages
demanding honour
importance
immortality