the curtain never rose upon
that only dreamed of show;
the vision meant to be a gift,
a world that didn’t know
the future, vibrant and alive,
turned into long ago:
pavilions lined with afterthoughts,
a world that didn’t know
the broom comes out to clear the webs,
the workers clear the rot,
the echoes of a dream across
an empty parking lot
for time makes fools of memory;
it swallows in its flow
the hopes of all who reach, within
a world that doesn’t
know
