The stones are silent

Grey  and silent in their
Stolidness - they have
No  thought they just
/Sit in their shapes
lEach one a component part
Qf  a larger form
But  individual, necessary,
They  are chosen signals
Well-placed by hands
On  high ground
They  look down  j
On  the wide valley
The  long space below
They  look out on its
Time, time  been, time gone
Time  now, time
Yet  to come they simply are
Warmed
Briefly by the sun's
Gentle  beams they
Turn  golden one by one
But  within
Their stone thickness,
In  their grain, their
Graininess rough
And   unyielding, they are
Cold-

I put them  all there
One  by one, we all did
m   the travelling, we have
Been  here before,
Climbing, looking down,
Looking  on, looking
Back
And   they'll stay
Here, my  stones, sitting
Quietly warmed  by the
Sun,  growing older, growing
Moss,   growing
Cold.          |

When   the sun goes in, I go
Down,   leave the lichen to
Yellow  and fall like
Fern;  I placed my hand
On   the stone to say farewell.

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