I admit I am afflicted
My ears hear the voices of stones
Trapped, they are
Slaves to the static of high-rise and sidewalk
They are crying for their freedom
Freedom to be sand again becoming sand-
Stone, becoming granite, becoming
Sand again

I am a traitor
I denounce civilization, I would
Drive to wildness all things tame, complacent
Or controlled. I applaud
The Soft Revolution
The grass that cracks the city
Pavement like an eggshell
Roadside ivy running riot over walls
And gates and fences, returning them
To rot and dust and life again
On the hard and fallow ground

Club-footed pigeons carry word of revolution
Seed the lifeless rooftops
With news of animation

In the fierce carnelian of a city pigeon’s eye
Breathes the blood of the earth
Which is shed for all

I am a traitor
Renouncing life on easy terms
In the name of crabgrass,
In the name of streetbirds’ fiery glare
And kite string twisted feet
In the name of all small things loathed
For fear of their greatness

For I can hear, in the place where a human god
Once blessed and cursed me
In the place where my name once repeated itself
Like a holy mantra
The voice of something wholly wild
The crying of a stone