I pause within a gatehouse, hearhow footsteps echo in arch-night.A shepherd's herd of tourists nearsand strangers slip from shade to light.They clutch their maps like holy booksand cameras click to trap the now,in amber set, in smartphone nooks —no: the now moves on, holds to its vow.I sit and watch them pass me by,as tourists tread past history’til time clicks shut the gate, and Iam framed, snapped once: a copied me.
