Twin columns of smoke rise from the valley as the path falls into shadow. When a
language disappears,
the names of its gods crumble into ruins. Of Boreas, Enlil,
Khnum, Aiolos, only Poseidon and Neptune remain standing.

On the California coast,
“the headland, where
the seawind
Lets no tree grow,”
the poet Robinson Jeffers
built Hawk Tower, hoisting
blocks of granite with block
and tackle forty feet high,
grouting walls six feet thick,
“a symbol in which

/ Many high tragic thoughts
/ Watch their own eyes.”

That year, by Lake Zurich, Switzerland, psychologist
C.G. Jung began building
his tower of granite,
quarried from the lake's
opposite shore.
Over the next twelve years
Bollingen grew into, “a kind
of representation in stone
of the inner most thoughts
and of the knowledge
I had acquired.”