The dry stone wall is built of many rocks,
none uniform and none the same, their shape
dictates position in the final wallscape,
but not utility—each is a block
that shapes the choice and function of the next.
This wasted time in Denver is one stone,
one pebble in a wall that reaches back
beyond first memories to somewhere black,
beyond forgetting and beyond the known,
but beautiful as hieroglyphic text.
My little one, whatever your life builds—
a wall, a garden, house, a book, a song—
don't doubt your life makes you uniquely skilled
to build it. Never doubt. Be always strong.