A true interpreter of stone
Beggars all distinction
She brings us back to
Those wordless poems
We once knew by heart
The daybreak dreams
Sung with utmost clarity
By a bird perched
On our windowsill
She lets each stone
Become its very own
Cup of forgetfulness
From which we may drink
To our heart's content of
Sediment rich in flavor
Upon the rock she plants
Her seal of authenticity
Making of it mind's first canvas
Stretched well beyond
Its normal frame
Whereon each spec of color
Speaks of an ultimate truth
Most vivid though muted
And countless shapes
Hold fast while dancing
About like tongues of flame
Thus we may begin to divine
A stone's original intent
Although it must remain
Forever nameless
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| Image by @maryfrancesness |
