Points of stone


Thursday, July 17, 2014



We press against the cold stone

Two trolls under

The drip, drip, drip

Of this old stone bridge

Each edge of the

hewn stone

pressing in us

as we press together

soft against soft

until even that

gets hard,

the drip, drive drip

as potent as a

Chinese water torture

Only this is not China

And this is not water,

And the bridge is not

Refuge against the storm

We feel rising inside,

Our lives


By this arch above us

And the rushing water

At our feet,

The swish of traffic

Rushing overhead

Unaware of our haunting,

We not so much

Fearing sunlight

As preferring the mood of gray

Twilight shares,

Needing no shades of it

To enhance the ache,

No artificial inducements

To increase the edge

Of what bookies out of us

Like points of stone



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