The Rock

The sands lie down;
a towering rock
the darkness of a house

becomes my heart
in the cradle of sea.

A great hand or
some will against
my own is pulling,

cracking, crushing
bones like an axe

against a tree.

Wind, the ghosts
of sky, the endless tide-
keepers of a thousand

miles above, around me
show little sympathy

for a mountain's child.

These veins within
the stone, the heat
that melts to foam,

break the waves
that haunt me...

assure that I remain
a standing force,
though, separate from

the distant shore
that owns me.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

after reading this... it owns me too.