My heart is with this stone.

As silent energy
it forces crisis after crisis.

It slings brutality across your face,
like ice.

It lords it over life.

“Sweetheart”,
you spoke that world unbearably,
like ****,
as beautifully as evening
when the whimbrel’s seven fluting notes
innumerably measure how the distance
widens between earth and moon.

I might have listened
but my heart is with this stone.