Rock Poem

awed by the patterns, i say

“ i’d like to be here with a geologist

and you say

“ one was here once, an old guy who said,

wow, this is some

ugly rock. and i’m thinking

that is the last

word i’d use to describe it. “ ugly, he meant

tortured, he knew the processes that led to these

starburst scrolling fractures

white scribbles across gray

orange shimmering splashes undercut

by green

he knew these colorpatterns

evidenced a long

mutilation of bedrock granite. but for me,

sitting on the headland, it’s the epitome

of beauty, draws my gaze again and

again, the lines are messages scrawled by

giants

the Earth is “ speaking to me in a language

I do not

yet

understand.