and the ensuing river begins to wear down the mountain
drop by infinitesimal drop— a process of hollowing.
Nobody recognizes his own unbecoming, so the slow green slope of us
slopes slowly into blue.
They say it takes full centuries to erode a body
I’m not so sure. I was once a single misplaced word that extinguished a family forever.
Stone must be easier to revisit with hindsight,
to love more in its absence.
Stone must be easier to forgive.
One day we’ll all have to travel a thousand miles and back
in a car too small for its family — over stone and sand —
just to stand awe-struck on the lip of some empty canyon
carved from a mountain by a dried out river.