The jungle paints the ruins green —
brown blocks are made verdant.
So, you can’t see its ordered shape
’til you part the curtain
of palms and vines and mammoth leaves
that hide those old remains —
once hacked back by muscled men who,
daily, took great pains
to clear the rampant jungle growth
out beyond moat and berm.
‘Til the invading army won,
and Fort was deemed infirm.
There’s an orange that warms my soul
when sprightly fires are dead.
It blazes back to old school days,
or the day that I was wed.
It piles the smiles on frozen faces
when they think about long gone places.
some shades of green
& some oranges
zap my brain into a kindergarten
the bright green LEDs of a post-neon sign
fire the context of a memory into my mind
there must be some long forgotten object–
a childhood artifact?
like the residue of a dream,
or is it gut-stomp synesthesia?