Pacing the perimeter of crumbling stone,
I see the priory distilled
Down to the bones of its bare form--
All the prayers of its foundation
Now relinquished to the earth,
Along with stone upon stone,
Borrowed and returned.
We scour the earth to find such clues.
The older they are, the more we intuit
That they are our future--
Our quiet acceptance
Of the knowledge we inherit
That our end is our beginning,
Even though we often fear it.