Stonescape Revisited

The moist soil sinks
where our boot heels press,
only crickets,
who lend their chirps
to the chilly night,
cut through
the stone-inscribed silence.
Miles of hill stretch, underneath where
yellowed bones poke through parched flesh.

This field could be universe
of stones instead of stars,
of grass a galaxy of spirits
swimming among sticky blades.
The moon peeks from behind the clouds
to send its glow,
streaking our hair silver,
with white rays piercing the skyscape.
We are otherwise draped in the indigo night.

We push through the low fog,
and from a distance,
our eyes glide oer the wite, pebbled stonescape.
We walk away with sunrise
at our backs,
as the morning takes the night
in a pink-crepe seduction.

By Marisa