Stone Wall

Where are you going, deep in your thicket?
A shaped estuary of stone by the hands of men.
Standing against time, you flow forth;
Rivulets of rock cutting into the landscape.
Streaming across time; hugging
The contours of the old sod,
Like a flowing river of stone in sand,
You melt into the landscape, only to reemerge.
Granite heaps in eddies filling the hollows;
Sandstone brooks branching off; disappearing under the leaves.
Rose Quartz pops up like salmon spawning upstream.
Stonework carefully placed so long ago,
Spills onto the forest floor in muted slag piles

Speaking louder than the muted tongues
that wagged when you were boundaries built.
All that is left of them is this memory of stone,
Because hands that shaped you have withered;
Fields,  cleared to create you, overgrown.
A sentinel you stand to centuries past,
Covered in the skeletons of vines and dead trees;
Overrun by woods, and bramble, and nature's detritus.
A patchwork of light and shadow quilts you now,
As your dull stream breaks across the old forest floor.
Patches of lichen bleaching the stonework, and
Fanning across the stone surface in crusty circles.
Acorns, lost to the gray and red squirrels,
Take root in your musty composts of decades past;
Ready to return you to the forest primeval.