Day 80 of 100 Poems/100 Days

Villa

As boys, we chased one another,
down the hallways,
the corridors,
to recess, sandwiches next to the courts.

Now, rusted beams
loom over our heads,
like a ribcage,
that has stopped breathing.

I imagine the harbor
engulfing the bricks,
making sand out of stone,
making its history finally end.

Or this place will outlive us,
will carry the memory of our talk,
of the lives we spent in it,
our companion aging without us.

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