Stone by Damian Ward Hey

from gripping ground

still wrapped

in clinging green —

pulled numb,

a skinless thing

full-brimmed with time 

when time 

first figured — 

set next to time,

while stone

dries in the sun —

time stands quite still,

stone speech

as forcible 

as thought

in solid space —

made of time,

how long you wait:

until

the hills melt flat —

time has no speed

when memory 

is stone, still, 

in the earth —

should time release

its grip of earth,

raise fixed 

anchor,

stone’s word

would drop, useless,

as sun

falls into sea.

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Damian Ward Hey has poems in The RavensPerch, e·ratio, Neologism, and other journals. His work has appeared in several anthologies, among them Birth - Lifespan Vol. 1. (Pure Slush); Poets with Masks On (Melanie Simms, ed.); and easing the edges: a collection of everyday miracles (d. ellis phelps, ed.). Damian lives on Long Island, NY, with his wife and two children