Living the Dream

perhaps, wandering the clefts of the colding land,
she stumbled or was sucked, down, down
deep into the crevice where bones become stone

perhaps, wrapped in the mud of a Gobi Oasis,
hands stroking beloved one last time
applying divinity and eternity, one layer at a time

perhaps, a mother pressed her face against obsidian
death, a child-like fervent wish to be forever
took his mother to watch his trail

perhaps, you show me the way, sister,
for our stories are written in stone,
your bones of prayer sink in our tears

Tags: Poems //