“I don’t care much for the enclosure of buildings”
said Mary Oliver.
I didn’t realize that I, too, have been soothed
by wide open spaces,
mountains in the distance,
open to all, eternal ground
beneath our feet.
Beautiful architecture is only available to a rare few, as has always been true:
the baths, hunting house, and monastery.
Pockets of peace and serenity protected from peripheral chaos destined to become the ruined legacy donors scramble to preserve.
We bury our trash, our fears, our loves,
but the past resists decay.
Regrets sealed in boxes below ground— betting
it will never reemerge— hoping
our grandchildren will never have to see.
