a heart of flesh, for stone

a heart can turn to stone—and it does

lay inert, without wonder

for anyone singing of love, complaining of loss

 

stone does not respond to flesh and blood

 

yet, we tell our stories to the stone, over and over

it listens, without wonder

 

until enough stories are told and heard, heard and told

that the stone begins to recall its start in the heart of a man or woman

 

over time, words reveal water falling and the stone

begins to speak, telling its own story, claiming back

the heart buried, unearthed, resurrected,

moved

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