By Jason Cabitac
I am this stone
that rises from red dust
and gathers the four winds.
This stone is a sleeping eye
that awakens to hold, in image,
the burned glow
of distant, internal stars.
Slowly it slouches onward
inch by inch like a hesitant glance —
a stranger in this desert,
alone among barren trees
and unfamiliar sand.
The heat of this new day
rotates and spirals down with ease
until I am lifted and pulled up,
arms spread out,
free from the chains of gravity.
And in midair
I see my reflection as a black void —
subtle yet powerful,
humming with capacity and desire
to devour my senses,
this trembling identity.
In holy rapture I float and am tamed;
my throat yearns for the waters below.
Slowly I am emptied of all I once called me
and become but a vapor, a whisper of mystery.
I am pierced by light and fall
deep into an unseen chasm.
Such strange darkness I now behold.
This becomes that
and all that was and shall be
echoes in unison, the ancient moan.
An eternity passes.
I have become longing itself.
O my light, why have you forsaken me?
Am I so shameful, empty, incomplete?
I have taken the sun for granted,
love once lived fully within my heart.
Suddenly a sound —
the hiss of a snake.
It crawls nigh from far off,
years and years away.
But surely it comes
to bear this heavy stone
to be born anew
in a profane nativity scene.
My heart shudders and I wait.
My poppy mind soars.
Jason Cabitac is a poet, stone sculptor, and student currently living in Boulder, Colorado.