It’s cool for August but
not cool enough for me.
I’m sweating in the shade, ensconced
in pines, oaks and corpse tables
where school children come to
eat and laugh
at some joke or another-juvenile.
They do not sweat.
There is no laughter here now;
the children are gone.
But I like to think of them
and the wonders they perceive
in this ancient, hallowed place,
stolen and steeled; renovated and
reinvented. For minds much too young
to entertain the circumstances
that brought them here.
But there is something they can see
that I cannot; a dream
dreamt suns and moons ago.
One that’s never lost.