Her hands shape stone,
which shapes the story she means to tell
with whatever the stone knew all along.
Reaching its inner planes, she listens
for a shift of sound that may warn of a weak spot.
She stays alert for the slight changes
in how her chisel enters.
One slip of her hand, a lapse of attention,
can make the rock startle apart,
fracture weeks of work into a maze.
A stone can break
like mirrors or history.
She can’t ever look away.