Silent William walked slowly round the rock.
Touched it constantly, like a blind man
reading a strangers face. With closed eyes,
calloused hands probed, pictured pale seams
that veined the boulders hidden heart.
Felt many flaws, small protrusions of crystal
or fossil. Williams's skill allowed him to know stone
as another would know their garden or the behaviour
of a much loved horse. He whispered thanks to the
spirits, asked that they grant permission for him
to lay his blade and that they would guide his hand
as he did. sharp lapis eyes viewed every bump
and crevice. Thickened pads of fingers followed
curve and hollow.
For many hours, until every contour was known,
a map formed of gentle green veins locked inside.
Satisfied, he stepped back, appraisal complete.
He knew now where he would place his first chisel.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem