The stones in your garden

The stones in your garden speak louder than the people passing by
they claim an ancestry that goes back to the first cave
when two flintstones controlled fire
and a pauper wind swept the brambles of an alphabet gone deaf

Things being what they were
you had only to grasp a stone in your hand to feel the planet’s vibrations
sense a volcano’s insurrection
the cry of a mountain collapsed by an ant

Hold back your hand when the sunset draws its last circle on your wall
the sun is not a drum
and the discussion between darkness and asphalt doesn’t concern you
     while your shadow follows you by a finger and an eye
You walk and your destinations print themselves on your feet

Translated from the French by Marilyn Hacker