I am no stone

I am fluid like the tide

Being born in the flood

In the water the sky had cried

Woven baskets slip along the Nile still

Wonder among the fruitless fronds

As the beetles cry their melancholy song

I try to hear it as if for the first time

For I bend like the fronds, unworthy of fatherson

I am no stone

I draw strength from the soil

Strong as a will, fluid as a frond

I try to feel everything before it spoils

Dirt of my ancestors

Dirt of the earth

Dead dirt the feeds the flame

Named Bakken lighting the west

Does its best to soil my name

I am no stone

I speak with my eyes

Fluid like a flood on a Thursday

In celebration, I will dance in the aisles

Adorned with a signature permanent shrug

Just like in the moving pictures

Beyond the flame of the west

Shines like warm spit in the water

A dream in black and blue in rest

Sometimes I feel I have felt it all before

Still, my chest opens, hungry for more

Some people monotonous as a buried bone

But me, I am fluid, I am no stone