What you thought a living halo
of ivy amid the woodwork,
was sandstone carved
at a dizzy cathedral height,
laureate head disgorging greenery,
still growing in the stone.
Man not known wrapped in tendrils,
a scream or yawn,
this vine from his mouth.
His eyes are open but you
are better not seeing through them.
Rural legend, unspoken
by he who cannot now speak,
made by a mason who knew
the untold tale of a friend of a friend,
someone who delved too deep
inside the forest and was repaid
an unexpected non-blessing.
Like faced motif also made of wood,
felt by the pious in the mercy seat
hidden from the priest),
its features, both face and leaves,
begging attention from the flesh
it waits beneath.
Medusa faced male beguiling
(greenery instead of serpents),
chained eternal in the wild land.