Thursday Poem

I will be stone

hardened of ancient sediments

serene in countenance

solitary of form
correction of symmetry
.

earth will shrug me up

expose me

where

blows may chip me
cold may crack me
.

but little will reduce me

gentleness may round me

years of stroking dust

eras of aimless water
lichen’s eternal appetite
.

I will rest a bird

guide a stream

knit a road

skip a lake
punish an infidel
.
I will lie low
costing stumbles
that I will not feel
and curses
I will not hear
.
I will have no standing
regret no past
fear no future
own no thing
but silence
.
by John Hart