Not even stone will sit
forever in itself. We heard
low thunder in camp, a shudder
of sound between the walls.
The sky blue in a wide band, the stream
a crooked mirror. Then an unseen chisel
tapped in place. A house-sized chunk
of red rock slid from the wall
opposite us, four-limbed insects.
The display seemed at first bravado
and mercy: we are spared.
Then something else, brutal
and loving as any nature's god, declaring
'Life enfolds your life. Elemental
forces will insist
upon the remotest creekbeds of your heart.'

Emily Fisher emigrated from Utah to Northern California a few years ago and someday hopes to grow her own organic artichokes.
Email Emily Fisher at emfisher@gumballpoetry.com

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