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.