What does animal love 

know of me, the kind 
that grips the throat
and will not loose its bite.

Or shudders through the body
like aftershocks, devastation
heaped in the valley
like prayer stones.

What do I know of stones—
how many millennia of fire
and cooling, how much 
pressure to make gravel, 
a pebble, a cobble underfoot.

How do I tell the difference
between mend and repair,
and at what point 
do prayers begin?

What do I know of erosion?
Loose particles drifting down,
layer after layer pressed
into shale, sandstone.

How do I know what settles
into dunes or stone.
What is worn away?

What do I know
of letting go,
and when to pray