Unnumbered Stones
calved from itself
every single piece
then down thrown
from that towering
fractured rockface
rattle tumbles
like gun metal gray die-
cast toys onto this
steep slope, uneven
and felted green.
and felted green.
They settle perfectly
silent and singular.
The old stone dice here
do not have numbered
faces, no dots on them;
only the mottled lichen
and that smooth luster
of time on bone.
16 thoughts on "Unnumbered Stones"
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runic rubble. 🙂
You know that’s getting put somewhere at some point
” runic rubble ” is gold
That last stanza is as good as it gets. Time on bone will stay with me.
Yup me too, I was trying to make the last stanza a square but it hit me so good it ended right there.
Best laid plans and all that.
wonderful
from a poet who walks
the woods & creeks
and sees
Thank-you Jim. I think sometimes the veil lifts slow. Something about poetry and intention, attention and of course time. This one was a particularly fun write.
especially love “calved,” “dice,” “mottled”
I liked calved too 🙂
Thank-you
Especially love the last 2 lines.
Me too….the little people that live in my head had a lot of fun dictating this one 🙂
This has a Wendell Berry feel. You are on fire.
Oh
Heck yeah !! I’ll take it
🙂
thanks Kevin 🙂
The absence of numbered faces or dots on the stones is a powerful metaphor for the wildness and unpredictability of nature, and the way it resists human attempts to impose order and structure. I feel like Mother Nature herself would be empowered after reading this poem.
Thank you Justin.
I really like the way you put that.
I love this: “calved from itself” is such a strong image, and that last stanza is perfect end: “time on bone.”
I truly admire your work. You have such attention to detail.