Unfolded letters

Stone

Speak to me, dear,
Quiet as a stone.
The fresh bellied
Inside of us
Is gleaming deeper.
It has pearled up
And around our
Child minds, when it
Was as hot as
Seeds. It is now
Smooth in our hands.
We have begun
To turn it over
And inspect it
Closely: it can't
Be burned or frozen.
It won't burst wetly,
Or collapse to
Glittering bits.
Or wilt in the
Next day's bright light.
November 2007