If I'm not going back to the Middle Ages
I'm going back to ancient Greece
Secretly behind my outward life
I keep seeing flashes of those times
I love the old geography and weather
Where so many lived now bare and quiet
No stone in its rightful place
That doesn't nag at me to remember
What I keep coming back to breath
The arguments in the clear air
The first green thoughts emerging again
Where they built temples to them
And called them gods and saints
To find a part of me still there
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