the rain falls
that had not been falling
and it is the same world

In the middle of winter sweat drips down my spine, ledge to ledge, yet there is no path.
With a small backpack, and a white cap with visor, talking to a phone, a young woman
calls forth a slight breeze. A clump of dry weeds reply: What are you, but pottery shards
of that period below the floor of the temple, and concluded that the ‘Temple of Ares’ must
have originally stood somewhere else and had been dismantled to be particles born by the
universe.