Muscles of stone hold fast
one on top of another,
watch time slip by in tiny
packages, endless streams
pouring forward, memory perfect.
When did this corner round off?
How did this carving waste away?
You needn’t ask; it is known.
Rough-hew blocks exhale their
millennial sighs, add rhythm
to time, note each breeze with
single-pointed attention, your subtle
body, each finger running over,
each spray of graffiti, each drenching
off, each passerby humming.
Observances pile high, dribble into
crevices. Each sun-baked afternoon,
each drunken sky, each note of joy
pouring from eateries, each
starry night over the river.
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Inspired by a number of things running together, including this lovely work by Jennifer Knoblock, We’ll Call it Decluttering.
7 responses to “Roman ruins lying off a square in Arles”
I like how you use active verbs that make this poem come alive.
And this:
watch time slip by in tiny
packages,
Just perfect.
Thank you for that! So glad you liked it.
Oh, I will be saving and savoring again. “Millennial sighs”–the notes, rhythm, joy of living, of history. You make even the decay okay 🙂 part of the yes of living.
You are so kind. Thanks! Really just playing now with that lost box of things you talked about … time slipping by without notice, and all. 😉
the whole poem works well, but that last stanza provides such great images!
Thabk you! I appreciate this a great deal.
Sorry! I mean ‘thank you’!