Listening

Like the bone bowls carved smooth
of stone
in the recesses within the tumuli
once found the bones were removed

I wonder
were they the only ones ever
or simply the last
before the faith that placed them there
left that place

Once for a time
there was a place in this world
for spirals and intricate designs
in stone and on vellum
scholars who concocted the colors
to decorate the words of bards
the word of God

Soon I will wander
ask the universe to show a way
tell me the way to the willow
I must dwell underneath
to sing a poet’s solitude
to read the record of ancient echoes
of this present despair

Someone asked me not so long ago
whether I have any common sense
(she thought I must
as in this age one needs it so)
but whatever combination of smoke
and mirrors got me this far
I never have had much of that
estimable commodity