Of Courtyards

the humid air looms
up from the Trees in this
solemn, sunlit courtyard,
making the Breezes slow
and unkind—
the Bricks crack with time
and the spring rain
that corrodes them slowly;
the changing of the Seasons slip
in and out, shifting the air from utterly chilling
to thick and hard to breathe—
through a thousand Suns
and countless Moons
we see the Smoke rise from the stack
atop the ancient hollowed building:
the Ground holds the stuff of budding
that makes me ache for touching—
the fodder of Dreams.

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