VILLAGE

Securely a street, too few houses

To merit the title. Just a way  between

The one tavern and the one shop 

That leads nowhere and fails at the top

 Of the short hill. eaten away 

By a long version of the green tide 

Of grass creeping perpetually nearer

This last outpost of time past

So little happens. the black dog 

Cracking his fleas in the hot sun 

Is history. Yet the girl who crosses

From door to door moves to a scale

Beyond the bland day's two dimensions.

Stay .then village .for around  you spins 

On a slow axis award as vast

And meaningful as posed 

By breastplate's solitary mind.