Written in stone
Come closer, even closer
so close that you can touch the text.
If you press your fingertips against mine
you can feel the pulse from a world
that hung together like a conspiracy.
Of my own life I remember nothing
but believe through writing sought to gain a larger I
that was to dwell in my signs
with a door open to anyone wishing to enter.
Perhaps I was originally a farmer’s son.
If you lean your brow against the stone
you will probably hear my stalwart thoughts
like a distant laden ox-cart along the mountain path.
Possibly I became some kind of orator
and captivated listening crowds
in a rush easily confused with life.
Come closer, a millimetre into the stone.
Lend me your voice
and I will tell you who you are.
Lend me your eyes
and I will show you a world
that in a minute makes the whole world clear.
Lend me your breath
and with a gasp you will understand
you have lived a very long time.