This Day

In the cisterns and water fountains of the ruined city

the shallow ponds fed by broken mains

the pigeons congregate to drink and bathe

more peaceful in the gentle light softened by

early wisps of inbound fog than any

dove as if to say, we will populate you

and the clouds that pass as shadows down its streets and

walkways, more present than the human shadows

they replace which, though more substantial, were always

lost in comings and goings, they too say,

we will populate you

though we will respect no boundaries

and those remnants who have gathered in the park

where rusted playground equipment of designs so ingenious

we no longer remember how it functioned even though we

played on it as children, didn’t we? invites us to an endless play

the rust in turn denies us.

where space is greater and the sense of ruin less

happy to share this calm that for so long we feared

pass the word that seven days from this day

we will celebrate a day so sacred we cannot name it

a day that will never appear on any calendar.

Be there.