Beneath Shifting Sands

so many stones caressed by so many feet, strewn
in this same exact pattern for so many years.
Two thousand years split beneath the thick wheels of an
armored truck. sand turns to glass and burns red and then
black then gray ash, the splintered remains of ancient
minaret spires whose complete ruin is so blatant

there is nothing to unearth.  Satellites pick up
ancient trade routes, abandoned oases, holy
sites, the smoky debris left by airplanes disrupt
the glorious remnants of those that came before.

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