El Dorado

Impossible as clouds upon the water, I dream of you.
Beneath a feather-blue sky, I sleep.

I lead you wandering through a ruined city:
Along the old stone walls
And staircases going nowhere
But to the sunset,
Among the headless statues
With half-arms raised
In silence to the wind.
I show you the growing things,
The life that has taken over
And filled the empty streets.
In the back halls,
A few roofs still stand
Above the tiled mosaics
Of forgotten gods.

"Welcome," I say, then whisper:
"Who are you, traveller,
That you have found this place?"


--Megan Morris, meikundayo@yahoo.com