Every Swiss-village 
calendar instructs 
as to how stone 
gathers the landscape 
around it, how 
glacier-scattered 
thousand-ton 
monuments to 
randomness become 
fixed points in 
finding home. 
Order is always 
starting over. 
And why not 
also in the self, 
the odd blocks, 
all lost and left, 
become first facts 
toward which later 
a little town 
looks back?