the stone and the hand

i

my mind wraps itself around
that promised stone

my skin already reaching out with

every finely-tuned and hungry nerve

smelling its wildly chiseled shape

for this moment my hands are knotted behind my back 

 - the groping fingers and their neediness too distracting -

i lie quietly enfolding my body around the stone

teaching all my other body parts to intuit

the free-fall, the wind-roll of the stone

not asking questions, like which direction, why and how?

simply rolling, tumbling, crashing with

the winds and the tides

ii

as i fall off to sleep my body turns into 

a single small open hand

your body turns into 

that single small sunbaked stone

stone rolls into small open hand

     hand holds stone

         till the morning sun splinters 

                the horizon into crumbling honeycombs