I
The cool redundant columns. Echo’s bark
From hills above the ruins. Shepherd’s call
Still further up the dusty slopes. The stark
Reply of time to history’s rise and fall.
II
So love is nothing if not temporary
And shadows have our hands behind them –
We push them hard and dig the scenery,
Dialogue’s own ad hoc mausoleum.
I take your eyes for granite. Watch me switch
Out clocks for more notorious emblems –
The rings upon our fingers. Watch us clutch
At minutes, hours – pride’s failed museums.
III
The glassy crack of marble. Rust at play
With iron’s age. Collected skulls, a gloss
On bones that counted. Killing time this way,
The finger taps within its golden compass.
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