the temple

Whose hand placed this stone?
How many hands
Now only memory and dust,
Laid hands upon this stone?

Whose sweat marked this stone?
With effort under the sun
Or with effort for the gods?
Whose belief wet this stone?

Whose blood stained this stone?
In a city of pain, sacrifice
A gift to feed ancient gods
As their blood stained the stones

my dancer

Her delicate profile
Etched in
Cameo porcelain
A blush rises at her cheek

She does not walk
She glides
Into the room
Like a cool summer breeze

Perfectly she moves
Pirouettes
Like a dancer
Her arms gracefully arch

She floats from one position
To another
Like a river
Flows effortlessly by

She cannot contain it
The dance
It moves her
In joyous release