Having seen gold in the churches of Spain,
the conquistadors,
inconsolable for want of it,
pursued a gleam visible
across miles of cruel desert,
driving stakes into the earth
that they might make their way home.
Alas, they found only pyrite.
I see a pretty blonde
across a crowded room
or in a lunchtime rush
on the street
and, against reason,
allow my imagination to conjure you,
or more specifically you
as a part of us.
Alas, the asphalt and concrete
of my city
do not lend themselves
to the driving of stakes.
Don McWilliams
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/seduction-imagination-and-the-driving-of-stakes/
