Up on the limestone banks the patterns I see are centuries lived
by no one I know. Small bugs and sea creatures, occasional fish
tell me life was different, that I wouldn’t be able to breath here as I am.
But I breathe here as they did once. I walk upon land they knew
as water and the water I look to, the river, creates canyons in
what they knew as air. I don’t feel close to their remains even
as I sit bone to skeleton. They escape my ability to grasp so many years
even as I watch the crow fly who perhaps has known them as
well as me. The sun I know has seen all, even as I watch it set.