Now we can take the tour, guided by recordings, or stroll the trails and read the markers-- maybe even imagine you, your men, become the rocks on this hilly plain where, one hundred years ago, you became a Stone Wall . . .
And we can suffer June heat, pause to wipe our foreheads while something in our sluggish blood recalls the grimness of your stance, the almost furious trance your men had fallen into-- and we can lean forward into our ancestors . . .
But then a light wind soughs over the hazy field pushing us softly back into ourselves: your cause is lost, not to you but to us . . .
For now the Stone Wall is broken down, and we, your faithless descendents, falter through these memorial grounds, wandering mutely in broken rings around these rocks which once were men.
copyright 2001 Phoebe Claire Publishing, LLC All rights reserved