live a village of outsiders.
They never see each other,
talk to each other.
At night, for heat,
they watch the fires in the valley below.
In the morning, they awaken
to the cries of monkeys,
drink dew for sustenance.
In the afternoon,
they nap on mats of grass.
When the sun begins to set,
they remember their unbearable loneliness
and carve on the rocks and trees
poems that people will read again and again for a thousand years.


						Brandywine
						1/26/01