for stone to
rumbling, spewing forth, shaking
and moving in a marbled
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
We stand within their edifice and follow
their paths to the next moment,
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.”