So these are the monuments.
And these are the faces of the inevitable.
And if I am made one of them, rendered
marble by the gorgon’s stare, then
help me celebrate the abrupt
tombstone my torso becomes.
I’ve never been this far from home.
I’ve never lifted my arms above
my head in victory as the rose petals
fell like sand. If I am never
to move again, let me never
take for granted
how I’ve been granted
this permanence, this patience
to stand forever—a stone
in this small corner of history—
among this statuary, able
to outlast birds, winged
horses and their riders.