Old Roads in Greece

Dusty were the feet that trod upon these stones,

stones now worn with time and age and ripened rain.

If I were to rub them with my fingers, remove today’s

soil, would I unearth a Roman soldier, clad as he was

in breastplate, helmet, and spear? Would I rub against

the worshipers who came bearing gifts for Zeus?

If I got down on my knees, pried ancient loam from between

the cracks, would I hear the sound of chariots, the thrum

of hardened feet racing for a laurel crown? Come to me,

Grecian ladies laden with jewels and scarves, brush my lips

with your olive oils, and let me kiss the history

                                                    now carved into my heart.