As Porphyry writes poetry, it as if
the words were cut deep in to stone. He
Writes so that you will listen and remember
that he is an old man, saved by trees, saved by
the land as if it were an island suspiciously placed —
it is a home to him, an igloo in the snow,
an oasis in the sand, a cave to protect him
from wolves and snakes and all the forces.
that wound our world with terror.
That Porphyry is awed by these words .
will be easily seen by you who live in the future,
even if you are not saved by the past
even if you are not saved by islands.
The stones glow, that is enough.