Stone clouds tell her story.

Today was dry before grey stomped
over head.

I wish I was her. She reminds me

how to cry like my pupils are perfect moons,
ten thousand drops on the prick
of every sharp edge .

She shapes me,
she wraps me in her moisture
when I am filth, then leaves.

I forget. I fly around memory
and time like
it still exists,

like one floor leads to
the next floor,

like today isn’t meant to say anything,
I hope

for silence underwater,
my big head under
breathing out every last danger

until my old body is
roaring grey stone,
floating in over head,
reminding someone to fly around
and time
like they still exist.

5 thoughts on “Stones

  1. Your poetry leaves me with a new sense of wonder each & every time I read it, Maggie. Thank you for constantly inspiring my muse & mind 🙂 This was outstanding, as usual!!

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