Cutting Stone

for Charlie

My hands caress the smooth surface

feeling for the shape locked therein,

my fingers are the keys to its secrets

to uncover with chisel and wits alone,

as long as the pain does not betray
for this is the day I am cutting stone.

My age tries to define me in aches
criss-crossing my limbs like branches
of a wizened and ancient oak tree
I rest from my labor at the noontide
to consider what I have found within
the rock that resists the vision I seek
in this, as in all things, I shall abide.

Time again for day to chase the night
a body is born from the fragments 
falling away like leaves in the breeze
autumnal seasons, weathered bone
I bite back the hurt, I will remain
releasing my desire cutting stone.