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Circa Eta Carina Located


Rocks are notoriously secretive.

Laying strata, crushing time,

whispering life’s mysteries, hushed

in crevasse, atop mountains, murmuring

through arroyo’s and ravine,

the chatter of aged contentment

for stone to contemplate;

rumbling, spewing forth, shaking

and moving in a marbled ballet

of  purchase and pitch,

hardened, molten dust.

We lay with them, grasp them

in our hands, feel grain,

flake and texture; an indiscrete

scraping across our skin.

We stand within their edifice and follow

their paths to the next moment, climb them,

slip, slide and crawl within their depths.

Carve them, paint them and bare them

boldly for rank and power, prying to seek

out their secrets to beat back our enemies.

We bow and stand in awe of them, recant our

many sins beneath them, weeping.

We trip upon them, make

them part of our daily communion and

talk of creation; the ancient alluvial

clay that lured us down from the trees

and pushed up the walls of our hearts, listen

to the rock speak, the dust settle and the walls

reverberate with their ancient echo:

“we are star stuff, we are star stuff.”