I know what the walls feel
when their stones are blackened.
And I know, because I was, once, a
stone, white - washed by the rain
and the wind, pure; I know, because
I was set alight by dawns and sunsets,
and I was silvered by moons and stars.
I know, because I was touched by petals
of countless springs, and because
countless leaves have shed entire autumns
upon me, by the verge of the path.
I know because I was echo of steps
and pauses, and was, once, a milestone
of arrivals and goodbyes. I know, because
I became transposition, then construction -
perchance of a dream in fervent rise;
because in me windows were opened, wide,
and - at the same time – doors were, upon
my width, firmly shut. I know, because
of one colour, of another, and yet
another, I was tinted – according to
the light or shade reflecting days,
nights, sobs and smiles, caresses,
blows, fears, waits, hatreds and loves,
and… honey or blood, upon me.
I know, in each one of my stones
- broken, sculpted, chiselled…
mutation, in restyled fragments, of
the white, natural wholeness that I’ve been.
I know, because, in becoming shelter, perhaps
I also erected myself as a barrier; because,
as one or as the other, I am not
impregnable, indestructible.
I know… because time burns me, and
I am darkened by smoke and by abandon.
If I’m not one, as yet, I know… I’ll
become ruin – I don’t know whether of
a shrine, that some evocation may erect…
or simply of an end, in blackened stones.
And I feel… yes, I feel, in each one of
those stones of me, all that you feel…
all that I know.

© 2007 Alexandra* ~ OneLight*®