I thought it was a castle
My once-favourite mountain has come inside
The city limits—with its round water reservoir on top.
In my kid outings I thought it was a castle, perched
Above this suburb.
Woods and vaulted hallways, without a trace of mist except
Against my eyes today;—adoration in confused
Unlikely wilderness they say is a blight: scoria
And ragged trees. Beaten weathervanes misplaced in the city.
My short legs
Placed a hillside on stilts. The cambered streetlamps must be
The spare-timber blocks Dad hitched to my feet
With loops of stapled ribbon.
Shade that no longer imagines Roman aqueducts
Arriving at roads like bridge to river.