There is a place which is a transient space.

Up top of the scaffolding floats like a crows nest

a home to the workers on the dome of the mosque.

They are special.

They work tirelessly all day with a malleable metal,

bossing and snipping and coaxing into place,

to waterproof this holy space.

So long have they been here that they've built a respite

from the sun and rain, a shed to shed their tools

and a house to house their brews.

For millenia have such workers built their shelters:

wedged into  the dark recess of a canted cathedral buttress,

 'tis the same now - nothing has changed.

Bedraggled in its waterproof shroud lies a

parthenoned skeleton of classical proportions with

columns of wood and putlogs modillion.

Badged and flowered it is.

Once inside the naked dome looms like an onion.

Corseted - ready to receive its clinging lead skin

Plastic stretched wide like a waterproof hide.

A  cover, a shelter, to dry off or swelter.

A window into our thoughts and our dreams.

Words and photographs by Andy Marshall

www.fotofacade.com

Thanks to the lead craftsmen at IBIS