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.