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  • Artist Info: I woke flecked in white and mossy green. Nestled<br />
    Beneath the splaying smiles of clover. The light through<br />
    Frond Ferns dappled me starry and faint life pulsed<br />
    Within bulbous mushrooms, slumped in fairy crescents.<br />
    Warmth above, wheeling pale as a gull.<br />
    Warmth below, churning in the dark<br />
    Between them I bask, ponderous, tied by tanglevines<br />
    Shall I sprout limbs and trundle away, Snuffling<br />
    Blind through the twisting tunnels of the underbrush?<br />
    No, who in my stead would herd the pale seedlings,<br />
    And tell these late winter children of coming spring?<br />
    Where would the snake rest from his creeping, coiling cold<br />
    Scales in sinister affection? No . . .Better to stay<br />
    Heavy with warmth . . . .best to sleep. . . <br />
    <br />
    I hurtle wild as storm, through the shrieking air<br />
    Am I woke to be bird-kind? Shall I dip and dive within<br />
    The vaulted sky? No, I have no wings nor plumage<br />
    I am bone heavy, my brief motion borrowed from <br />
    A child's slingshot. One small thing aimed at another.<br />
    I yell a warning to the hare, crouched in the thicket<br />
    But even her clever, quirked ears can't chase stone-shouts<br />
    I crash crimson and am still once more. I preferred my<br />
    Alarming motion to this ebbing warmth and fleeing life<br />
    I am weary . . . <br />
    <br />
    I swim motionless through watery echoes, painted <br />
    Heron-blue and banded by strands of the light. Gifts<br />
    Of the sky lady as she spreads her smile across the pool<br />
    Silver fish dart and flash, spilling tumbling dreams into rising bubbles.<br />
    Tall strands of hyacinth and water lily, spread green underbellies<br />
    And beguile the currents, dancing lazy ripples. Water bugs<br />
    Skip and skirt, air-light and fleet as wind. My kind, grazes<br />
    Still and silent on the muddy bed of the river, heaped together<br />
    In Placid harmony. I call to them but receive no answer, still they sleep<br />
    And I shall join them . . . <br />
    <br />
    The choking mud, slinks sluggish over my proud white speckles<br />
    This sort of waking is most akin to sleep which wraps me deaf and <br />
    Dumb within my earthen cradle-coffin. Is this all that remains?<br />
    To be buried so? This muddy embrace is a suffocating comfort.<br />
    The warmth above is remote, the memory of a stranger<br />
    The warmth below, surges vaguely, a call<br />
    I dream drowsy of crystal caverns and roiling heat.<br />
    I sink into dark embrace and wonder what I shall be<br />
    When next I wake.<br />
    <br />
    <br />
    . . . This is a poem I wrote from the view-point of a stone. It makes me happy!
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