Hi, @d-pend.
Human legacy is transient. Our fantasies know better, I believe.
When I was little, three maybe, I used to have a dream where I visited a square in my hometown. I went up the hill; on top there was the square, “Plaza Quetepe”. I remember my father telling me it was the town’s historic quarter. The place was high and to me it seemed pretty much an Escher’s drawing; I think, perhaps, my brain turned it to dust so I could cope with the bizarre image. Most structures became earth and stone. The pillars and benches became something similar to Stonehenge. The rest vanished. People disappeared, too, including my parents. Then I wondered if I was still there. I feared I wasn’t, and I was right; I could not see my body; it was like I had become air with a conscience. I could escape, too, but my echerian Stonehenge would crumble, and I was just too curious to find out what that strange world was and today I still wonder what a dream like that meant for a little kid. Instead of escaping, I woke up and went back several times. And, listen, it was not a nightmare, not at all (although it was a weirdest thing).
Your poem reminds me of that dream.
Now I think I might’ve been afraid of the world’s being taken back to a past era with no humans. Our trace, lost.