Made of Stone

Fresh waters cut deep faces into the mountains of time

Wrinkled brown, laughter lines

Eyes of stone bearing witness to their own beautiful deconstruction.

I stand in the desert surveying their timeless aging from afar

Free from thought, free from culpability

We stand separated by a vastness of gritty indifference.

If I could reach, I would run and flail my fists screaming:

"Might mountains, stalwart stones! Lift this cure from on my home!"

And those waters would carve a cut deep to the mighty mountains' bones

And I would be left hot, dry, and alone

Because mountains, head to heart, were always made of stone.