What we build upon this plain will grace it for eternity, a silent ring of watchers carved from stone. We who know the paths of moon and star must show the way. Thus we lead our people forward, patient and ponderous.
We persist, though the weight be ponderous, moving stones through the grace of ropes and trees and weights of lead. Throw the lines through the ring, spread them out in a star, and pull into place each standing stone.
The carvings on every stone fit them together, perfect and ponderous, tongues fitting into grooves. The day star rises and sets; its golden rays grace our work as we raise the ring. Our eyes follow where they lead.
Quickly now, throw the lead! Take the measurements, settle the stone into its space. Every part of this ring must be precise, however ponderous. Only then will its hidden grace reveal the place and passage of each star.
Solstice and equinox, moon and star – this great circle will someday lead the way, keeping time by its grace. All true things are known by stone, whose wisdom is grown ponderous with its rounding of the year’s ring.
At last, the bells ring! The light shines; white flowers star the green grass. The ponderous task is done. Where we have lead, our descendants will follow, guided by stone and the ghostly remnants of our grace.
I step into the finished ring to bury the lead. My soul is light, my body heavy as a star stone. I can die happy now, embraced by their ponderous grace.
This poem was originally written as part of the Poetry Fishbowl project. It was later published in Strange Horizons magazine 6/16/08.