Stone Stories

Sculptures speak in tongues

Of decay, their pleading and

Cursing bedecked by vines,

Bleached by sun, blackened

By grime, caked in verdancy

And droppings. Stare down

Those weary wells of blank,

Those coy smirks, crumbling

Limbs; look past lifelessness,

And lend your breath through

Your regard. Make them make

Merry or mourn, make them

Giggle and wail. Let the still

Be watchful, let the dead be

Waking, let the life that once

Formed them flow into you.

Let stories of static stone live

Again in the fallacy of flesh.