Abbey in Marseilles

This abbey old,
one thousand, one
thousand six hundred
years. Two columns

buckling, held in place
with wood supports and
chains, still stand. Mottled
bricks, set with hands long

gone, crowd overhead, silent,
still joined. One thousand,
one thousand six hundred years.
My shoes scratch 'cross these

stones. Brown suede o'er my toes,
feet touching, treading how many
distant dreams, hopes, prayers,
tears? A silence meets me from

beyond the years. Enfolds my
soul. I feel quite still, quite whole.