The natives of this region built a temple
On the equator, centuries ago.
How on earth, I wonder, did they know
They'd found the heart of things, in times so simple?
The two of us were never as aware.
This photo shows us there, your palm to mine,
On either side of the imagined line,
Shadowless and hot, the laughing pair.
I know. I should have built a monument
To you; I should have learned to honor years
With stone cathedrals, though I never thought as much.
This photograph now seems a testament
That we were always split by hemispheres,
Even there, even as we touched.
[D. C. STONE lives in Berkeley, California, where he teaches middle school
and coaches basketball. He has an essay forthcoming in Tundra.]