Archaeologist

I held on to those pieces of you long after you were gone.

The currency of past lives marks an emotional epoch which

can now be seen in the strata of those years. I wander like

an archaeologist, more curious than involved, contemplative

and detached from the subject at hand. This process covers

the hands with dirt of ages, sullies the clean clothes of the

present. It is a wonder to behold the works, the inhabitants

are long since gone. The empty ruins, a monument to another

time, my feet headed down the path far and away.