Even shapes

Even shapes, those rectangular bodies
those geometrically correct forms
they are the order of things
as they order things.

Rough surfaces left behind,
so is the weed that grows between the tiles,
the dirt that confuses the texture of their shoes,
the grace of the breaking waves at the shore.

The ruler is the ruler here,
the line the guide and guidance their drive,
for purpose is now the prerequisite for their entry
to the place of even shapes.

Broken pieces tolerated no longer,
the stories they tell are told no more,
the passage of time, and the mind of a memory, not welcome
to the place of even shapes.

Even shapes, you non-spaces,
you non-places and non-traces,
you are no shapes
you contain, that’s all.