The quarried cavern is vast as the
proverbial cathedral or, perhaps more
properly, higher than a chapel ceiling.
Amidst the rubble on the floor is a caban,
a small, slate lean-to. Though on piecework,
the quarrymen, erstwhile farmers and shepherds
driven here by poverty, stopped, at noon,
to sing, recite, debate for an hour –
their knowledge the power to sustain them.