The Stone Carver’s Note

To whatever home you call home—
a door, locked; a mother’s place;
a family, that dream state—compare
When you find the big stone rock,
the one bigger than all that,
put your skull face to her skull face,
stand Still Let, what?—God, Time,
Boredom—shade your eyes
Then, with night-sight watch
how song fills air with old unrest,
disturbs snake and creek,
moves, erodes Even this strong rock,
both gate and guard, smooths
Even you Forget trinkets
Here, the map we grave To begin,
leave home Go home
Enter the wood’s inscape