Years ago  I  traveled the length and breadth of Portugal  with knapsack ; a
V.W ; and a raven haired lass  from Centra; we were  both stone crazy
visiting megalithic tombs and Templar castles . Sleeping out under the stars
and surviving on goat cheese and olives,coarse bread and never ending chilled
Rose.
I recall some megaliths 18 -20 ft tall and I remember one famous chapel (whos
name momentairly escapes me) ; where the entire chapel was made from the
skull and bones of all the monks   who had lived and served there;
polished,set in plaster mortars with a white marble high alter; would this be
adaptive reuse?
The following was written when someone recently wrote me asking  if there
were any "skeletons in the closet ' regarding old flames ...

Skeletons are bones
They make us who we are
all an all better people by far
I have scars and stitches
road maps of my life
given to me by saints and sinners
some carved by knife
but when I think of lovers
and my own heroic lust
I recall shared sweetness
over dark and lonely thought
I recall naked swims under moons of gold
with  fields of  heather  in days of old
Where men and maidens shared their charm
and no one thought it would be of harm
 But now that soul is  50
 and it struggles in the night
to  see old flames as sweetness
and not of broken charm.
Mon Oncle pond poems 2/00