My lover put a stone in my hand.
Hunting the beach with her Long white legs,
Veins on marble, lines on limestone
faint dark fuzzies playing on translucent skin
Torso bent parallel to the horizon
Millennia on minute
She scans the pebbles radaring the sand and weeds
The eroded lithified orb humbles my pretense
My lover speaks their rich language,
erring through the rocky scars of time
She asks each one if it knows the Sahara
If it has seen death in the wine dark sea
She wants to know if it is dizzying to live more than a life.
But the stones are not a revealing bunch
They don’t want her to get too nosy
So they do it on purpose to hurt her high arch
Stubborn and inured to life’s trials, she persists, seeking
for the clasts that will draw a heartshaped unique
attesting the metaphysical words
beyond its heavy sunbathed sea, horizon’s infinite fright
crystal shards lock the sun inside their smoothness
does the sacred hurt?
Why do the pebbles persist in existing
Do they really have a choice?
meanings brought from the frequencies beyond our nights and days
Are the great gods watching our futile efforts
to reconstruct their universe…..failing their desire for human dignity.
My lover said the stone is oblivious.
Meera Zeir Oct 2nd 2016