This morning as an afterthought
I bit the tears
Out of ancient rocks and hills
To make them mine
And when they left
I heaved a sigh that they
Did not linger
And make me, them
Their woes
Their bleeding
Me them
Their battles
Their ephemeral happiness
Their warriors
Their gladiators
Their brown-faced gnomes
Their scatter of feet
Their protean lust
Their minerals, their granite.
Their sullied mines
Me, them.
