they are not going to understand except for the pottery
the ruins the way that you do,only caring for the glaze,
future historians, documenting what was your former
life on earth
the rings on your tree of life, the unspeakable winters
and counting the various strata color coded to match
as though in fashion
each subsequent era
how will they measure the inner devastations
only the singed fragments of the poets
who perished too in their singing
portends. engraved on the fallen pillars.
or on the amber of the wind;
the lilies of the valley peeping through the rubble of
all the old accretions so long so long
past their inner twilights,
the so called historical griefs
that sundered us, for a while
from ourselves.
mary angela douglas 16 january 2023
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