The roots
          That twist
Around the stone
                 Will one day
        Loosen
The stone
           That twists
Out of the ground
                 One day will crumble
Into little more
           Than dust
And blow away
                  In the wind
Far across the ocean.
The earth
Too one day
           Will dissipate
Into nothing
                   More than gas
That will be carried
                       Across the cosmos
                           To start new beginnings
                                 And spread old roots

The stones
Heave outward
Broken
On the hill.
The roots
Twist tighter
Deeper
In the ground.
The branches
Arch upward
Higher
To a trembling sun.

There are faces in the stone
The cemented sand that face
The stumbling mountains
To the east, like prisoners
In prayer. There are
Stories here held loosely
In the empty rivers;
Afternoons full of
Electricity and rain
Winter nights cold and quiet
Days of endless aching wind
And mornings, fresh and new.
If you listen closely, you can hear
Them talking about such things as
Erosion, defiance
Moons and stars.

The rushing of water
Through narrow veins
Of stone, like marrow
To be disposed of
To get rid of
Or the dull ache
Of wind finely etching
The cemented sand lose
Like a surgeon;
These years the same, the same
Sometimes the raging flood
Of debris, in all its muddy glory
Sometimes, the soft tug
Of stars pulling inward
Ever so gently, like
A long forgotten memory

The sea knows a secret
I know the taste of
Time on its wave
Like those embraces
Beneath the mountains.
In the time of change
Even the heron
Follows the watery paths
To home. Oh those rotten
Old hills oh those sandy
Flower like feelings. My streams
Run down my cheeks
My streams run deep
And old.

There's a mountain in my mind
I've never been able to see
Beyond the farthest horizon
And I'm sailing away
Beyond the further shore
To where the ancient stars
Dance like fireflies in sky.
There's a story in the shells
Of those that have sunk to the
Bottom of the sea of those
I have loved shaped by
The waves of time.
There is a place in the pines
There is a space in my mind
Where even the wind won't blow
Where even sun won't shine.

My dog dragged me through
The door into the night
Out into the cold wind.
My thoughts dragged me
Beyond the desert horizon;
The coals of dusk just ashes
The center of despair.
November's half gone
And its empty promises too
Gone like the wind in the night
Gone like the wolves in the woods