Zaragosa
I’ve said it before
But it always strikes me
When I wander over here
Like a soft mallet on a dinner gong
Our lack of history, our need for new
I can only imagine the anger
When they drew up the plans
Modern adjoins the ancient
But wait a few more years
For the bloom off the rose and a little tarnish
All seems in place
Children move before the basilica
Feeding pigeons and crying at the moon
Their eyes rising in the mist of the jagged sheen of falling water
Only to run to Roman walls
To climb and pronounce their accomplishment
They are simple, they want only a time stamp, a snapshot
Even though they have zig-zagged across 1500 years of history in 5 minutes
Hoping once again just to fall into the arms of their parents, safe and warm
To be taken from the stares of Goya and Michael Jordan
Home to be fed and put to bed
They are not yet history
Perhaps time will be kind
Perhaps…