Mirror

Lawn creased by shadows sun has setin springtime. Flower bulbs abound.Young woman sits on warm stone stepand pays no heed to songbirds’ sounds. She texts on phone and makes a call —beneath, behind her, from the dew,old temple, Greek, emerges from a pallof memory older than her forebears knew. Where warm step was appears the shadeof holy stone, where ancient godsflowed forth to build this earth they madeto house their children — fickle, flawed. Lost oracle who slept beneaththe stepstone stirred. Her time had cometo wake once more, to rise and greetthis woman who had called veiled dome. Wise oracle rose, in silence spurredby newfound patron sitting there —young woman with her back to her —she reached out to touch the woman's hair. But woman ends her call and standsto pocket her replacement god.Its prophet-mirror's darkened, andnow waits to serve its patron — awed. Old temple fades from memory,its shade burned off by modern sun.Revival, dim and temporary,retreats into the springtime lawn.