Flesh and Stones

If you look around, you will find fresh tears staining the scattered stones of fallen towers – my own among them.

I weep for them.

I speak to them.

I press my bare skin to them and kiss them.

I cradle them.

I tell you the truth.

I love them.

If you search intimately, you may find wild treasures glimmering just beneath the scattered stones of fallen powers – my own among them.

My tears did not fall on them.

My words did not reach them.

My skin did not touch them.

My arms did not embrace them.

I tell you the truth.

I did not love them.

Now, if you dare to look even more closely, you may find the oldest tears tickling and trickling down the backs of those who weep over scattered stones.

They slip through the stones and soak the earth where treasures dwell.

He weeps for them.

He speaks to them.

He presses his bare skin to them and kisses them.

He cradles them.

I tell you the truth.

He loves them.

 

If you ever dare to sift through stones, be warned:

For what you find will shock you,

what you drop will lift you,

and what you hold will make you.

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