The scientist explains our ancestors
make up each stone, and suddenly I hear
their constant singing. How each edge scissors
and crevices wind, creates slight whispers
from barest breeze. How their vast skin invites
home for brush and trees to add soft rhythms
of percussion through their leaves. How by night
mockingbirds harmonize staccato hymns
critics would decry in other venues.
Still, we welcome them here, love, and now we
know why. By day, their curved walls and slopes use
sun to beckon distant wanderers. See
how their shadows hypnotize artists’ eyes,
urging them to record earth’s memories.
Roger Armbrust
June 24, 2010
