the silence of a building
whose inhabitants,
unfathomable to the present,
and to whom it was a fitting
and familiar backdrop,
are long dead
it doesn't miss them.
it has withdrawn into
the dim, slow life
of stone
the birds that rest
in its cool crannies
then flutter back to the adjacent trees'
rustling brightness,
and the mice, the insects
the other, smallest creatures
are the only ones
that can know it now
even unto its darkest, most intimate crevices
after the tourists leave
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