It would otherwise not have been the oaks
In their flat field of shadow
With neon stars between their arches
Blinking. Everyone was alive
Then, in their various guises, even as fewer
Of us feasted at the table, and the figures
Moving through burgundy rooms in
The film we remembered
Grew more gaunt and porous. Mostly
We dealt with languages Continue reading “Excavations #3 by James Pate”
