A woman is speaking in a place of rocks.
Her voice is the water of that place
and founds the time there.
She says the world, begun out of nothing,
stands by turning
out of grasp, a lover’s yes and no,
stay and go, singing stepping
in and out of time and momentum,
the body’s doctrine
of need and scarcity,
the heart’s full measure
of night and day, sons and daughters.
A woman is talking. Her voice
is a boat and oars in a place of rocks.
Stranded in a rocky place,
it is a garment torn to pieces.
It is the light,
accomplished by wind and fire,
abiding inside the rocks.
A memory of the sea, it’s what remains.
Homesickness in the rocks.
Homecoming in the trees.