This is an edited version of the poem that first appeared in Fountain of Youth (Vine Leaves Press, 2016), p: 83.
Pillars made of marble.
Then the moon.
It glistens too,
bidding welcome to summons
and lives anew.
But the dead of night envelops
bricks stacked in circles
tall as trees, pasted with cement.
Not an inch to breathe.
Dare I say it? You dip your head
backwards to soak in the sphere
with eyes wide shut and mind
tuned inward. You claim
you did not see their feet
covered in blisters, still and firm
behind marble pillars. They whisper,
echoes in dunes. That day you pledged
yourself to their rescue.
What happened?
The moonlight.
It glistened.
