Ink Tea Stone Leaf

The Ancient Stage

His mark has faded from the Earth’s account
	of history, of memory he sang
on ancient stages, wood the worse for wear
	but polished clean, his mark has faded
from the memory of generations.

The hills that held an ancient stage subsided
	in the storm, the banners ran like gulls
across the ragged waves, a rustic song
	of memory escaped, the hills that held
the sea at length became the villanelle.

The generations trained to speak in polished
	phrases, on the ancient stage above
the vast abyss, the dahlias bloomed to cover
	all in flame, the generations trained
in tongues to lay their memories aside.

She laid her flowers on an empty grave
	in memory of him, she drew his mark
in ashes, gathered from an ancient stage
	in sorry circumstance, she laid her flowers
at a shrine to missing history.