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Across the shambled ruins

Of empire,

The wild winds

Of innocence,

Shift the sands

Of bitter bones

And the fragments

Of forgotten footprints.

There by the wave

Of the waters of the great

Sea, the barn owl,

Who, of yore,

Invoked

The falling

Stars, flits in moth-dreamed

Elegance

From cliff to cave

In the silvered night

Where the stands

Of singing pines

Await

The bright

Rising

Of the moon, whose cowl

Of fire

Gleamed

In the time before

Time,

From the mist-cloaked

Hill of haunting

Stones.

 

© Sharon St Joan 2013, written around 2001

 

Photo: © Robert King | Dreamstime.