A place you cannot see

This Is The World Slaves Built

The tender palace floats like a black petal in a pool.
Reflected there by what love envisioned for one woman.
This is the world slaves built.

The eroding wall stretches over submissive hills, is lost to the late horizon. Runners bring news exhausted from the very heart of the Empire. This is the world slaves built.

Plantations rise pristine, encircled by white swamp-fed fields.
Cotton, and the many things servitude made soft, is fleeced from the land. This is the world slaves built.

Towers gleam in the failing forge of the sun. Glass and
steel angle and bevel, provide rest for birds and angels.
This is the world slaves built.

Rails disappear two by two into the vanishing one. The other
side of mystery lies at the far end of a place you cannot see.
This is the world slaves built.

Moon clears the purling ridge, unfurls like a stiffened flag.
Unseen manprints rise in the sky and are lost to the foot that trod them there. This, too, is the world slaves built.

Joseph Gallo
May 13, 2006