high in the mountains among the monuments
the
children sleep upon their parents' graves
tend to
the old battlefields and the sighing earth
their
faces worn broken like their parents' stones
high in the mountains among the monuments
the
children dance to the music of their own voices
a red
bandanna in each hand like a flag
spring has
released them again
high in the mountains among the monuments
the
children raise a city among the graves
and
chapels in the tombs
and corn
grows from the restless dust.
I have heard seen the signs see the very stones
and lain down to rest amid the chorus of the winds.
