The noble take upon
their ill in silence

Laying in waters
wishing cool yet
never warm enough

With a slight wake
yet too still to feel

In a shallow basin
that fills too deep

Thrown all rumors
In a room alone

Hoping for privacy
while seen by all

No poet has ever written
only to have one,
yet hundreds are written
to have only one.

On our knees
For all to see
For shall not covet
One another

As we are free
Like all the seas
We do love
All of our brothers

But not to look
Inside a book
For your rules
We glide upon

Instead to read
What our hearts need
Only the tools
We have drawn

Greedily to be
As if they were served to me
To dine selfishly

The realtor walks
Inside the house
Feeling so warm
She sweats her blouse

She reviews the property
From room to room
She checks every corner
Even the one with the broom

She steps towards it
When the space moves
The floorboards shifted
Easy to remove

She found steps
That led under the floor
Into an unknown space
And found what’s in store

Shelves built
To keep many jars
Filed with embalming liquid
And organs with scars

The tours involved
A trip to Hillah
Up the mountain
From the villa

The hike is tough
And the sun beats down
Dusty and *****
On a hard, parched ground

Arrive at the site
And through the gates
No line to find
And no time to waste

Inside the ruins
Structure still stands
From the ceiling
Are the dried vine strands

But to see what was there
Was too much to see
For yesterday’s tour
Were hung from the trees