you are stone
by nature resistant
cold testament
to slow work of wind

I am simpler flesh
even my bones
disappear.  Hands
press granite,
the suggestion  of a face

I cannot move you.

You could crush
me easily.

My work must be gentle
as rain’s fingers,
subtle as new roots
spinning passage.

Still, you are rock
unmoving,
a silence without breath.

Our meeting
a slow grind
that should span centuries.