Who
stood here?
Who
crouched on this
well-trod clay floor,
inside
the Montagne’s protective
curl
of an arm?
Who
stood here?
Who
tended fires long before
the
Ducs, the Louis’s, the
professors
came to claim your bed?
Who
stood here, bairns hanging
off
of your legs, fear
of
hunger, of wind,
of
the very fire that could warm,
or
burn?
Who
stood here looking through
the eye
of quantum physics out
to
us, to those who walked this hall of
rock and
earth after,
out onto her changing view of earth and ville
and
valley
below?
Who
stood here?
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