A Piece of Sculpture

I am transfixed
By actuality
By erosion of the
Here and now.
It is a cold hard dawn
And the rain is
Beating the buildings
Into submission
Pressing moisture
Into stone.
And time moves on
Regardless, its thought
Compressed on its own
Ever-receding horizon.
We are pulled along
In the wake of its
Days hours minutes
Like stone beads in bas-relief
Incidental detail on its hem.
I have been carved by
Its waters, by that slow drip
Which erodes stone to
Grooves and lips.  I flake
Year by year, re-define my
Grain, uncover layers, I am
Freshening recession. I am
Chiselling my granite to a grin.
You gave me that implement
Taught me how to begin.
Soon I will be like you: a pure
Being, a sculptured art form
Of living breathing stone.
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