Poem (Take two. It's really here this time.)

Rocks

I.

Solid, stable,
an anchor, a handhold
when the world
runs cold.
Stoic and quiet,
silent layers of
sedimentary secrets.
He stands tall above
my single-digit self,
his snowy peak unscalable,
the air’s thin up there.
Can I, will I ever
climb that high?
Seismic shifts of years
brought him—wore him—down.
Cracked and broken,
slipping away—not even
a rock stays.


II.

Hard, slick when wet,
sharp and pointed.
Careful where you fall,
and upon whom
you fall. Rock
on rock, plate tectonics,
her stubborn shale against my
yielding sandstone.
Wore me down, she
seemed unscarred, convecting
the cold through herself.


III.

Another rock, solid, dark.
Stifling pressure,
squeezing her darkness
into diamonds—
the jewels of her words,
strong, focused beams
reach into my corners, light
splitting through watery prisms,
into a spectrum, color
against stark, weeping walls,
deep within.