The stones begin to speak now
tell me all I know
long ago but all too close the pines
whose house is that with one light showing
I dug a well where no water was
I built a staircase down to solid rock
no root cellar no smell of winter apples
spread the table with no cloth
on each empty plate a spoon of dust
don’t waste the fuel of breath on flames
sit quiet with the shivered memories of your life
now you can do nothing but listen and no one speaks.
Posthuman is to be beyond desire
to want no more than wood does
standing in the sunlight in the snow
making more of us by being so
and those stones know us too
one day calcium will have a voice
garnet in the Adirondacks speak
red wisdom to the risen poor
be enough the other side to be!
this is politics the throb of music
Bartok Beethoven Bruckner Bach.