hides a stone, and every stone
hides a weight of unfinished
sweetness. Does the sky tire
of being endless, of holding court
in a kingdom of what can't
ever be touched? Storms gather
what seems a century's worth
of water, a deluge poured
over the ribs of the earth.
Your heart is small as a pebble,
the sound of its drum
drowned out inside a tin pail
swinging from the shoulders
of a bean curd vendor
walking the streets at first light.
~ after "Sky Into Stone," Katrina Bello (2025)
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
