Summoning the metaphor of stone, this name.
To utter it is to stun my tongue, my teeth
Gritting syllables of gravel. So sovereign
It is as his shouts calling me back, and I'm
Suddenly a child again, mouth agape and gasping
For breath as if father were a word hurled
Farther away that I must ran after, hurtling me
Through hurts unmapped, across estranged acres
Traced by trajectories of rage, and gauged by
Velocities of loss. Yet the spark of a stone-
Rubbed heart strangely kindles love's belated
Light; its warmth burning this intimate wrath
Until it thaws, and smoke unseethes our ancestry
Of aches-our common tree--- where ire, rock-
Rooting, was sired. Once in a dream I stumbled
On grandfather's grave, and I clawed, digging
For his bones; its heft no more than a fistful
Of pebbles. Wakeful now, I'm all ears to
The absence of his voice. It roars, swearing
I'm just a chip off the old block: a stowaway
Towed by a wayward streak not even the most
Severe of beatings could break. Consider then
The river and its heritage of boulders.
Imagine me as the bridge over it where you,
Children all forthcoming, shall meet.
Go then down the water. Wash your feet.