Snow melts

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.