The Stone

From my balcony

each letter in the word "complexity"

drops like fine china

and in its pieces

is a new undiscovered landscape.

In book stores

under the cover of night

tiny men ready their tiny erasers

but come to find

when they open up those dictionaries

the word already dissolving.

From the tops of mountains

it lingers only briefly.

On the river swollen with spring

the word has never existed.

In other places it has turned

simply chocolate.

And in the front of houses

the word has been replaced by single stone

that only a few can lift, even fewer can carry

and only two can love.