The cracking stones March 20, 2024

  

Each time I move wrong

Stones crack inside me

Like the rattle of old bones

I feel, not hear,

My universe stirred up

By what goes on without,

Like an echo inside,

The clash of stone,

This need to roll

These things I feel

Up a hill

I can only imagine,

The sweat of labor

Dripping down

Into both eyes

So, all I have

Is the feel of it,

I see nothing,

Except perhaps

For the vague shapes

Stirring in this fot

I have created

I hear nothing

But the cracking,

and not even that,

Except

For the vague sound

Of what might be music,

Yet is not.

Each time I stir,

Move this ay or that,

The stones crack,

I rattle,

Losing myself again

In this fog of dust

This need I must

Satisfy,

This ache I take

With me

No matter where I turn,

As if no direction

Is the right direction,

And simply move

To feel the stones

Stirring.

 

email to Al Sullivan