MIDNIGHT

At the twelfth gate of the ruined temple

a lion has crumbled into sand

The bells of a dozen churches

toll across the island

The wind whirls white petals

down the twelve alleys to the harbor

Last year twelve children were born

here and twelve people died

Below the seawall barefoot in her marble dress

a girl lost at sea for twelve days

climbs the twelve steps to the plaza

where the Angel of Tears

weeps into a fountain adorned

with the signs of the zodiac

and twelve pilgrims clutching candles

file up the mountain road