by Lawrence J. J. Leonard
Lay your hands on the tabletop
and feel the spring green flora where a young Earth
came alive in its prime, only to be crystalized.
Embrace the waves of density and
the physics of pressure
with the subtle matchmaker of geologic heat.
Where it began is a world of its own,
where people transform rubble,
where the mountain trail ends.
The crack of the rock beneath the
hydraulic block cutter
heralds the mountain’s demise.
Vibrant colors when polished, precious stone
lies beneath the convex slant
of the ridge ancient and young.
No animals sit above in observance
having been rushed away by the crush of men,
eager to work and impatient with caretaking.
Again, the sound seems to pulse as slowly
as geological forces worked
to convert volcanic turbulence into mesas and peaks.
One by one the slices fall.
They are pieces of bread cascading from
the heaviest of loaves – for export.
A cutter’s saw and its painful whine
are followed by the roaring muscle trucks
echoing the advent of departure aboard a ship.
The ocean currents and the tack cajole each vessel
filled with colored pieces of intensity
from the petrified mountains to the shores of new legacy.
A well travelled route skips the rock planes
on pallets that frame the old stones within,
displaying new versions of ancient scenes.
Soon hoards of people cast steely showroom stares
until one is attracted to the
shape of leaves suspended in time.
Selected jobbers pour over the place of its resting
to measure to support to display
the new addition of immeasurable quality.
And here my head enjoys the comfort and coolness
of the spoonful of rock of the once mighty mountain
and its aura of stillness and majesty and serenity.
Copyright © 1960-2016 Lawrence J. J. Leonard All rights reserved.