With These Rocks
A sudden wind perked up. The heavy window shutters
creaked.
Leaves flew up from the soil. They were blown away, away.
Only the rocks remained. They have to do, now, he repeats.
When night rolls down the big mountain and throws our
keys in the water well — my rocks, my rocks, he says, let me
chisel, one by one my unknown faces and body on them, with
my one hand clenched tightly, raised over the wall.
