Every room is full-proof. The halls
are built roughly the same
always seem to
know where you are;
with what's on the table.
A bowl, pale and glum gold
like a soft luke-
a lake called The Ocean,
in the middle,
like the counterfeit words of incantation.
Pointed polished jewels, shook down
from their place in the sky,
with a familiar silhouette brutally-
but-indomitably drawn across them,
its four limbs stiff and stoically pointed,
a new kind of ancient pagan sundial
(now featuring Roman numerals)
made to keep new time
a little more slowly,
in order to blur and cover-over
how gradually—the symbols,
come to be
and worshiped—by the conquered.