Coal Shed

There was a time when I came
to visit almost daily,
the old intriguing the very young.
But mistaking the past for permanence,
I squandered the present,
missing the chance to know.

Though weathered to a shade
that from a distance was gray,
closer conversation revealed
the hues of earlier years.

Within the reach of a child’s arm,
I saw the glimmer
deep in the grooves between the joints and swollen grain.
The mossy brows,
gave contrast to motes of dust in the sun
lifted from its sides like slow breath.

The softened texture seduced touch
but, in its grievance with age, replied with slivers to the palm.
Open crevices were black with ancient dust of coal
Grit and fragments supported the foundation,
becoming part of it, shoring it up with the mined past
that once lived,
once was known.