Statues

Most of us will never get to stand – white and blinding – in the public square telling the time with our shadows or look down on the world from the top of the dizzying column of our wealth or on winter evenings with our Caesar gaze make closed museums of our parks. Most of us will be caught wild mid-dance when the music stops trying not to topple over or like the man I read about today crouched all night like a frozen jackrabbit in the raided fields who leaves nothing behind except the shape of his own vanishing into which the morning pours its hardening light.