Monday, November 21, 2005



Rock – smoothworn, black, warm of sun
Big enough to sit on
Still a stranger on this dolomite shore
Having just arrived at the last ice age
Having left your parentland
Before it knew its name
Talk to me in your slowquiet
Sloweloquent way
Talk to me of listening
Talk to me of patience
Tell me of a time
Before steam, before sail, before paddle
Tell me of a time
Before alewife, before trout, before sturgeon
Tell me of a time
Before clocks, before calendars, before time
Teach me . . . sloweloquence
Teach me . . . slowquiet
Teach me . . . Rock.

- Ralph Murre

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