The Gardener walks with you,
gesturing at the centuries-laid stone paths.
GHOSTS OF THE LIVING WATERS
The Stonybrook runs
Beneath our feet
The stone marker reads.
It was put there
When we decided
To take its place
To dig it a grave
And imprison it there --
Alive?
Or did we leave it for dead?
And not just that,
The estuaries were buried
The marshes were confined
The rivers were locked up
Away from the tides.
We turned them into reservoirs
Because we can't even imagine
A life not in our service.
We built a desert to live in,
We erected a monument to die in
Right here at the foot of our tower.
I've never seen any brook in this city
No streams or fresh springs
But the waters that lived here before
Gave it so many of their names.
So many souls stolen
In the name of remembrance
Devoid of repentance!
Where are they now?
Where did we bury them?
Do they remember what they were?
And when we die
Will they reclaim
What we took from them?