powders of stones

Layer by layer, he chiselled the surface, hardened over time. Now time had no meaning, but for his work. Destruction, construction, it was not for him to decide. On his feet lay the debris, powdered monument, was it? Nothing made sense any more, only the task, burdened with overcast ripples of thumbed ocean.

only a chipped thought
flies away to the cerulian sky
sacred invasion

His skin had that sheen, although weathered. He was the monument, and its love, which none remembered. If memories had a tapestry, he would win hands down. But memories, for him,  were traps of fire, a quagmire, with no immediate escape.

swat flying creatures
they can't take you far away
you will die anyway

I close the chapter, with a snap, find my fingers breaking the spine. Horrified I observe the pages falling apart, just like the miniscule powders of stones, flying around him. Not bothered, he hammers the ground now. When the earth shakes, he laughs out loud, a sound I had forgotten. I like the crying earth, the bursting sky, awaiting for water to engulf me.

oceans are so hungry-
always swallow those stones
whole city underneath