Cobble stones
are his tears,
his monuments;

I hear
ragged air
flapping
over his garments
as he falls-
her face before him.

She gave him water;
clothed him.

His gnarled heart
sang for her,

his flight-
swan death down-
because of her;

the church bells rung for her
by him
in his tall tower pedestal.

How much love is it
in downward death
to have love's name
on your breath?

How much love it is
for love's one glance
be enough
your life to forfeit?

Quasimodo
breathed
his love
in earthward
flight;

before crash
his heart burst
surely
as he called her name-
Esmeralda,
Esmeralda;

he then felt her kiss
once more
before shattering land.

All sufficed
for what then
came:

Cobblestone Tears:
Love's Remains.