Rock

At our desks
How still we sit

Ponderous as black-lace cliffs
Facing a deadpan sea

You, the El Capitan
I, the Bunda Cliffs, rock

Etched smooth and deep in places
Worked with the thread and needle of air

Contemplation engulfs our silence
We are becoming more intricate

We are slowly carved by time
The seasons, the solstices, equinoxes

Wearing us to embroidery
To the finest silk

Our hearts drumming steadily
Inside their separate caves

The eye of the lamp pores over
Our lines to see how we are doing well

11 comments

  1. I so love the depth and grace… really well done Vera!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Ooh, thanks Bill. That’s a lovely compliment. It is now better than it was. Happy you liked it.

      Like

      1. You always have that depth and grace to your work! I remain, a huge fan! ๐Ÿ˜ƒ

        Liked by 1 person

        1. ๐Ÿ˜ƒ

          Liked by 1 person

  2. I wonder what I want the “carved” me to finally look like ๐Ÿ™‚

    Liked by 1 person

  3. The beautiful majesty and silence of it all. Really. I read this one over and over. Your words leave peace. Sweetly comforting. Thank You. ๐Ÿ™‚

    Liked by 1 person

    1. A simple rumination on how each one of us is honed by the hands of time. Thank you, Katy, I love reading your comments. โค

      Liked by 1 person

      1. It’s such my pleasure, Vera! โค๏ธ๐Ÿ˜Š๐ŸŒผ

        Liked by 1 person

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