As rock speaks to anytrained or curious eye:someone elsesometime elselaid down words—thin sheets or thick—something broke themlifted, pressed themhere: each rippled sandeach pebble clenched:motion renderedvisible, in red bouldersthick with clasts, a wildconglomerate, something madeof other things where‘pain and suffering shapethe mind,’ a quite implausible‘up above’ where wind hammersworlds together: convenientand bleakreduced to brash orlichen crust as brute matterwind/light/spacea mystery thickas contour lines on an old map—called reticentor maybe clitched, or‘looking back downthe path to the sea’—I meant seabeda fossil storm justpart way upto paradise—look here:a shallow dip in rough scree‘where water comes graduallyinto focus’ only becauseit trembles: that is windspeaking softlyheard by those who carry painas others carrytalismans, a descendentalwillingnessto walk all day in pursuitof fear—I meanto corner it, trap it, parse itthumbing a rockof green/black wavestouching lightin the form of leaftime in a metamorphicstone: ‘and whowith any sensecan’t be interestedin that?’—the sheenthe shades, the Gatesof Delirium—sandstone, sandwortiron oxidethought or spasmtouch or word:where a breezecrosses pain fluttersmuscle, ligamentsediment, sentimenttrees bent flatby wind and snowskirling wavesof rock uplifting:try to stand theretry to finda there exactlytouching herea timberlineso crystal clearso free of pityfree of dreadand all the lakesthat live there stillas wind