About

When you say “that which endures”
you speak of a stone
in the park where we lived
that summer before the accident

In that park there lived a stone
whose granite face was your face,
whose sacred eyes were your eyes,
whose body sang of your body
gathering the sun to it::
The stone of your body

We lived in our stone for many years
until the woodcutters came
and hacked away the trees
Broken branches leaned brokenly
beneath metal teeth

But the stone remained a stone
Your eyes were still you
There were no other gods before you
Even in the fields your wilderness,
the stone endured

Even now in the empty fields your wilderness,
the stone endures.

Robert Margolis is a writer, filmmaker, actor, and mentor. He graduated from Williams College and has been the recipient of a Fulbright Scholarship for cultural studies abroad. He currently lives in NYC.