here, amongst the cobbled
hobgobbled rock wall
the industrious windmill
the bare feet of civilization
positioning on hostile ground
This is a past I do not know;
I have fallen out of touch
with her arcs and creases.
The symbols of her bright fine
cloak are of a forgotten language
Soft in form, firm in stature
She’s not going anywhere.
framed by dividing wall,
grounded on barren earth
immortalized by spinning spokes
and extended sails.
Without her, I (we) am nothing
but I can’t remember her name.
5/27/10
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