Soapstone

Soapstone / Benjamin Rozonoyer

Heretofore,
relinquishing quintessential habits,
I scaled mountains,
I talked to rabbits,
lived among rabbits.

Heaven
espied the earth—
its glimpse is the sky
of unprecedented size,
which is why
babies cry at birth.

The sides
of the rock
are slippery,
you have to knock:
a knocker of yew
or hickory
will let you in.

The wind—perpetual Rabbit-jostle,
a monotony making one's head to oscillate
and fossil
solidify fossil
for as far as prairie and sky conflate

Soapstone: Copyright 2021 by Benjamin Rozonoyer. All rights reserved.