Stone

I could say that fire is how the world breathes.
That time is the shadows of a flock of birds across me.

That I am a part of all other stones
and that we are not asleep, just listening, is true.

Hearing the water move through us
like the crystal feet of lizards in times of drought.

Like the bells of pebbles walking slowly
downhill toward the ocean’s bottom. But you

know none of this and so you don’t believe me.
Don’t know that the true name of the Lord

collects so much light to its brilliance
that he is radiant darkness, that he is gravity.

Don’t know that all the angels collapsed inward
long ago and that they are responsible

for the waves in the farthest depths of sea.
The only thing to caress the squid’s one eye.

The vacancy which absorbs the whales’ secrets,
what sound is left after we stones have had our fill.

Because we are the closest to that god. He pulls us farthest
to him. Closest in. The movement in the tonnage dark

that streams the phosphorescent plankton over us,
like wings of flame, like blessings, like peace.