For a Stone Girl at Sanchi

half asleep on the cold grass

       night rain flicking the maples

under a black bowl upside-down

on a flat land

       on a wobbling speck

smaller than stars,

                space,

the size of a seed,

       hollow as bird skulls.

light flies across it

              –never is seen.

a big rock weatherd funny,

old tree trunks turnd stone,

       split rocks and find clams.

                all that time

loving;

two flesh persons changing,

       clung to, doorframes

       notions, spear-hafts

in a rubble of years.

                touching,

this dream pops. it was real:

       and it lasted forever.