From up here one can read the world.
I observe, surrounded by rock and stone carved,
Old boulders crafted into the shapes of slopes and planes,
Punctuated here and there by metal grills,
Rusted gratings and long-locked doors.
The cracks that stretch between these granite fields
Branch like rivers,
And everywhere this landscape is marked
By the voices of the stones.
Letters, single or in pairs –
H, M, J.B -
With or without the linking symbols –
K + A, SM hearts AB –
Whole words are perched here and there: names, fragments –
Season, Crystal, Kelly –
A few numbers speckle the pattern –
3/22/95, 7/8/92 –
And there, a few choice phrases –
"Warning – climbing is prohibited."
Like the Tower of Bab-il.
"Climbing is prohibited."
Up here these reborn boulders shout with the voices of others,
They sing the music of those who have come before me.
These stones are blessed with mouths,
Screaming in silent exultation.
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