Laurie Sheck, “Pompeii”

Covered with lapilli we crouch preserved as we were on that first day

The last one of our lives

Our bodies black marginalia beneath the sky’s unstable searchlight

They have unearthed the House of the Fawn the House of the Silver Wedding

And the Surgeon’s House

Our bread still in our ovens

Our tables spread and set

They have unearthed our lamp factories our fulleries the things

We wrote on walls

They life our rigidity up into

Sunlight we no longer see

Our eyes night sky

And because we cannot speak

It seems to them we’re holding many secrets