The Old Walls

The wall is who we are and they are not and 
            farther in the boundaries collapse in a rush of 
            security as cells multiply and break through stone 
translucent grit cracks the skin open to the elements
            we go down through layers and this is history
            a low door at the foot of the walls opens into starry 
arches articulate as loin bones the slender joints
            lithe as a voice disappearing from behind the 
            words behind the walls where water moves  
against deep tones of trees that cloud the air 
            behind the smell of wet earth the voice leaves 
            the shape of itself and the footprints of walkers 
trace the shell of the city its dead words 
            we crawled out of our words tender like snails
            and the new city grows from the loins of the old
as lichen spreads in acid maps invading and 
            retreating the city runs along fingers runs along 
            roads and wires and into fields and the sightlines
run back to the city in wires and the walls
            keep nothing out and the nothing beyond as a cloud 
            of eyes moves through the streets and falls like rain