Deep beneath the solid pavement, sense this spinning ball of stone.
From the spine of distant mountains, hear the silent call of stone.
Somewhere past Orion’s belt, across the corner of the eye,
Out of nothing into darkness, burns the briefest fall of stone.
Is winter coming to a close? Walk the fallow, frost-heaved fields—
This heart where scattered shards lie broken. Build up the crumbling wall of stone.
Take one pebble, round and flat, skip it on the silver river.
See how many ripples echo, echo from so small a stone.
Well for water, hearth for flame, arch for passage, slate for name.
Lantern light on grave and bone: a sacred circle, all of stone.
Camellia petals at her feet, a Jenny-wren’s nest in her hair,
Who watches from the wildwood’s edge, with heart of magma, shawl of stone?
The Ghazal Page Stone Radif Challenge issue, 2009