OLD STONE WALL

The naked rock the mason

chiseled and shaped

rambles around the acreage

of a mansion that’s been handed down.

After him came ivy, then lichen,

and a sycamore’s shade.

Atop this ancient altar now sits

a boy testing it heel by heel.

All through the mythical summer

he’ll worship there and they’ll keep coming:

satyrs, unicorns, wizards,

out of the stone’s colors,

out of what the mason chopped,

out of stories untold.

They’ll keep coming and dazzle the child

into unbroken shadows of forgetting.

 
 
 
 
 

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