Ruin
The wall stands
on the Ontario landscape
rough grey granite
dry wall, no mortar
gluing its oneness
hints of a fireplace.
Now the underbrush intrudes
forest pushing back memory.
Birds loop the lonely air
and forest creatures
shelter under its shadow.
It could be the
ruins of Ilium
of a Minoan palace
or even Dresden. The
causes as diverse as
a wooden horse
Santorini
or Allied bombers. This
wall speaks of the
inevitability of time
flux wrought by nature
by the nature of man.
c. 1980 Rita Rosenfeld
published in Tower Poetry Magazine, Vol.29, No.1
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