Like a battlement the wall has repulsed time,
embracing the morsels of life,
that foraged and assailed
in the chequered alternations of seasons.
There is no cloning conformity to its face,
no contortions of nip and tuck
to present a façade of contemporary fashion.
Concrete pillars and brick bastions have come and gone -
their unforgiving solidity
falling foul of subsidence and decay,
within its stoic gaze.
This is a living wall, the breaths of uncounted lives
coming and going, birthing and rotting,
hunters and prey
playing their spans
in and out of its cuddling.
Secret passages, bed chambers, dining halls
inhabit its fortification.
Its strength lies in its unconformity
in elastic flexibility it withstands assault
each piece in its place, its bed of truth;
touching and touched, angled and dangled
to best advantage.
Size isn’t everything, the smallest shard
making stable the prime ministers of stone.
The secret of its gentle resilience
is not the genesis of rock
but the spaces in between.