I am a rock and my brothers are rocks

I am a rock and my brothers are rocks

And our family name is patience.

Grinding our lunch can take most of a decade.

Step soft, we’re a beach: step firmly, a landslide.

At the head of the sky is a burning stone,

A circlet of stars, a mirroring moon, an eye of blinding gold.

At the bottom of every sky is a world;

At the foot of its forested mountains, always a stream.

We aren’t the gold nor the blue nor the slope.

We aren’t the stream nor the sound of its rushing.

We are the bed on which the world rests,

Its criminal patience, its bleak stupid patience.