XVIII.
{A. Jouarres l’Etang}
The surface of Lac de Jouarres is ruffled---
Perturbed emerald green turns to brown
While heavy clouds roll off of the shoulders of the Montagne Noir.
Windsurfer spins in fluorescence
Olive hills fall into deeper blue
But I am rooted like a stone.

There are so many types of stones!
Stones of heaven and battered stones of earth---
White boulders that cradle the lake,
Stones invisible.
Stones in the great sky by gravity held in orbit---moon stones.
Dusty pebbles shining like jewels in seasurf;
Stones in the fiery furnace.

Mighty stones and mountains,
Earth’s magnetic crust.
Crystal caves,
Celtic tombs, transistors, megaliths!

The earth---Gaia!---the earth!

Swift little wrens dart and loop
Chirping with a song deeper than the crickets’ steady screeching
As the wind blasts in ancient pine boughs
Rages like a small ocean.

{B. Laure-Minervois}
I am climbing upon a dry waterfall thick with yellow calk
Molded by its watercourse.
Muddled and milky cascade,
Where is your sweet gurgling song?

“I am hollow, my mouth is stopped with dust.
I am a whited sepulcher.”

The poet wonders, “Why was I led to this uneven road
To stand facing this dusty slope?”
The wind is heavy with pungent sage
From the brush underfoot.

Clattered white stones lie in a heap bearing witness to April’s torrent stream.
The stone bank on which I rest is a composite
of pink quartz,
Pebbles,
Shells,
Chunks of white marble,
Black mold capped with orange lichen
one often finds on gravestones,
Celtic monuments and alignments.

Tapping upon the sedimentary floor
Reveals a hollow cavity
Beneath which lies a layer of supple earth,
And then a chamber of orange marble
Like the quarry at Caunes
20 to 40 foot deep or more
walls of sheer peachflower marble.

{C. Carcassonne}
I am building up the fortress of my heart
Stone by stone stacked against gravity.
My tower opens to the sun and stars,
From stone windows I look down upon the terracotta rooftops below---
City of stone houses
And pale churches.

My furnace is sunburst and glowing
Cooled by white mist that drives up the green slope to the black slate tower.

Stone upon stone
Stone under foot,
Vertical and horizontal herringbone patterns on stone walls.
Stone aqueducts of effluence,
Stone well, so dark and deep,
my watersource, What is your musty song?

Cathedral within my walls---
Stone arched,
Hooded with gargoyles spewing
Buttressed in gray stone.
Silent stone sanctuary,
Altar of peachflower marble in a chapel
Where yellow candlelight flickers
Upon Saint Anthony’s
Sculpted, polished and tranquil face
Caressed by an old grandmother
With her wooden beads tapping.
Worn tomb of an ancient Patrician bears the scraping marks of time.
Triceles, circle within circles in stone like lace---
The rose window of Saint Nazaire,
My beautiful flower!

There are shops in my stone walled city;
Souvenirs, candy, coffee, cigarettes and books.

I see a little girl smiling to me from the bottom of a stone stairwell.
To her I say:
”This path lies before you. In it you shall prosper and grow.
You will become strong.
Nonetheless you shall arrive to where I stand---
It is only a matter of days
Strung one after the other.”