It Was There in the Past

It was there in the past
Like a static barn
With its aching wood
Rippling through
The seasons.

Then a memory
Of cemetery walks
And tulips bending
In the spring sun.

Youth walking firmly
On anointed ground,
Not arrogance, exactly,
But pliant sails
Pulling things forgotten
Into the steady stream
Of what we once knew
To be true.

More than true.


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