linnéa

Christ stands 100 feet tall in a robe of concrete

blank against the agile sky.

Everlasting arms jut

over the sugar-cube suburbs of Rio de Janerio;

His massive thumbs are tucked,

as though ready to dive.

City between His palms

the sun cranks

rotating shadow over laundry lines and furious traffic

smokestacks and flowerbeds. Deity

anchored on the pivot of pierced feet,

skids over parking lots and shopping carts.

All this

snag and clutter of civilization

swept by solar fission

and solemn testimonial shade

But in Chicago,

the skyline is muscular

brute commerce

drags slabs of shadow over curbs,

crosswalks, exchanges, intersections

and a chain-link fence that

meanders like a drunk man.

Where, tangled in the rust and shade

our statuette savior, diminutive

tips his chipped embrace over the Interstate:

Semis, vans

and taxies

flash

between the span of His Blessing.

( I wrote this piece comparing two images that I saw in the same day: the collosal statue of Christ that stands sentinal over Rio de Janerio filmed from a helicoper and aired on some educational TV special, followed a few hours later by a blurred glimps of an abandoned garden statue of the same Savior seen from the I-94 Chicago interchange.

Same template, different effect. So much content in such silent posture.)