Father and Son

What a glorious fortification!
This wall on the old city - what history it has seen!
Crumbling with age, the flesh,
Dry mortar rotting away
From the bones of it, the weighty blocks.
Worn smooth without by wind,
Eroded-
Yet still strong and wise, for having known
The separation of things, and so governed.

See how it lurks, that rude
Construction! Unnatural wall, aping cliffs,
Still brutal in its bulk, though - a dead hedge,
Messy but unbroken,
Intimidating in the dark. Its gate, that
Too-small mouth, is fed and shut for night.
Without she waits, and here stand I
Against the cold flank, insurmountable.

May 2, 2003

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