Day at the Indian Ruins
the parking lot shimmered with heat,
the afternoon sun filtered oddly
above its slant
so hot on the chrome of
our car as we emptied
the kids ran away, a drinking fountain
placed by the path a mini-oasis
for laughter and spray.
beyond the outlines
crafted circles in dirt, and we
waited for the quieting of history,
a feeling smooth in its influence.
we counted five, circling what
we imagined to be a fire,
the little huts opening
for evening meals, and the heat
shared by ancient friends, their teeth
straight, their hair
in braids, their
own kids shadowing the living children
and teaching them silence.
Sarah took my hand, and Ben
took yours, a family meeting a family,
another thought winnowing across
the centuries, a mystical
feel about the moment, a somewhere
else, a farther rhythm reaching
our spirits while the sunlight
beaded up the sweat
on our arms.