That day, I climb the long, shallow
steps along with the procession of men
incised in the wall, also moving upward.
They carry a barque, a narrow boat
of no consequent depth, sometimes long,
as this one appears to be. Empty now,
about to receive something rare, sacred
and precious. I continue to approach the slant
light at the top. There, unexpectedly,
I look onto a plaza. Perhaps a dock here once
received and sent cargo. The exit now barred
by a chainlink gate, so I stand and gaze out,
in another state from the dark climb; the sun
pouring into me. Lovely, I whisper to no one
that I can see, isn’t it? Stay one beat more,
then turn, descend to gather with the group
in a little chamber with a model barque.
I only remember it was gold
and very small. All those men figured
in the walls, as we rose, carrying
the body of a boat.
