The centuries-old,

ivy-grown Vault;

that hollowed-out

hallowed

echoing

space –

once tapped,

is not easily

restocked.

Fireworks’ fanfare

and relic celebration

flash and fade.

Laurels, mislaid.

Tear away

the fallow weeds

and briars’ choke;

oil rusted hinges

to keening song.

Reopen

the Vault,

the heart,

the hand;

replace collective

ache with

love.

 

— C.Birde, 7/19