A round
castle tower rises from a courtyard
near shops in the Village of East
Davenport.
Painted squares on a sidewalk and signs
suggest games for youthful kings and queens to play.
The
ageless Mississippi lurks behind a fortress,
always flowing, but passing near,
irreverent and free,
but in full majesty for peasantry to see.
Nearby
placards claim trees
for memories of departed ones,
and I read each one,
as the fading sun approaches the horizon.
I take my
time to walk through this setting
to witness visions of artisans,
to hear the river’s song and the poet’s cry
while humbled by tapestry.
I take
pause by the castle tower,
now in shadow of other structures,
while dedicated grounds
hold court for memories left to me.
—Mike Bayles
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