|<- Back to main page|
by Ruth Berman
People used to talk to stones more,
Listen to them—
Now only geologists—
Fossil hunters, especially, when slate calls
Over here! one of you fleeting mortals—
Molded in good solid past.
Some shamans, too, some idol-worshippers,
Know how to hold still long enough
To grow stone-minded
Lose their jittery burgeoning
And hear the stones.