Poetry Jam, 0/24/11,An old and hidden fascination:

Along the winding, steep trails
of stone or sandy roads he traveled
all the sharp and dusty
scents of  spices 
Marco Polo spread

from his hands and sleeves
to lining, seams of pockets,
even in his saddle bags.
I would be there-

Inside rough leather
watching as jewels and coins fall
to rattle with quill pens
folded clothes,even bright silks!

There must be wrapped food,
cheese and bread
dried meat, even figs in one;

Herbs for healing too
mixed with the aroma
of dry leaves, for tea-

                                                  To dream as I did, of all the things he saw
the people he met and stories he heard ...We read a luscious book in school
about him; and I value that memory more than I can ever say.