The Quiet Carver       

No matter what this statue or your axiom belies, 
When you have finished with your numbers, black and white, 
And I with my blue carving in the amber light, 
With dusting webs of wonder from the entrants' eyes 
And reassuring others of the painlessness of night, 
With simple rhymes and childhood phrases long forgotten 
With verses to dispel this darkness and quell their cries-- 
Then we will have surmounted prose's power, 
You with your digits, I with my hammer. 
We will have spanned and set this ill-begotten 
Universe in order, frozen all its constellations in the West, 
And we will hand in hand retire 
To our silent, unhewn memories of fire, 
To our well-deserved and unending rest.  

                                       Copyright © 1994 Alain Silver
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