hold me*
        he asked,

(but my hands
     were too
    full)

When I got to my first English class in college
the professor asked us
how would you describe yourself?
there were some pretty responses
I'm a leaf floating down stream
I'm a tree slowly growing
I'm a bird leaving the nest
It was my turn
A boulder,
huh?
please elaborate,
Well teach, it's like this
I'm not alive in the same sense as the others
I don't grow or change on my own accord
no I sit still
silent
immovable
stubborn
I take in what goes on around me
since the beginning of time
until the end of time
time means nothing to a boulder
My cracks are representations
of the choices and actions of those around me
and I'm still sitting still
long after they have passed
stationary,
but don't try to move me,
because once I get going
I only get harder to stop
So that's me
a cold boulder
only capable of what
the world around me permits

i guess some day my heart will stop stop
my heart will less
cringing into my lungs
flat drooping stop
breathing my throat will
around not a whisper
fold my lips into
bursting stop
my hands will
more still not
move or
kiss the slender
girl of a

waste life                                                STOP

Overnight, very
Whitely, discreetly,
Very quietly

Our toes, our noses
Take hold on the loam,
Acquire the air.

Nobody sees us,
Stops us, betrays us;
The small grains make room.

Soft fists insist on
Heaving the needles,
The leafy bedding,

Even the paving.
Our hammers, our rams,
Earless and eyeless,

Perfectly voiceless,
Widen the crannies,
Shoulder through holes. We

Diet on water,
On crumbs of shadow,
Bland-mannered, asking

Little or nothing.
So many of us!
So many of us!

We are shelves, we are
Tables, we are meek,
We are edible,

Nudgers and shovers
In spite of ourselves.
Our kind multiplies:

We shall by morning
Inherit the earth.
Our foot's in the door.