It's Still Life

Mislaid

Before we were steps, we were stones.
Still. Stones. We carried feet and
lemon bitter song,
flourished in the dark,
sturdy as the sun. We carried skin
and bones, and hopes and faith,
and a cold candle’s haze.
Still. Steps. Laid out flat.
Overgrown. We are returned to stone.

 
 
for Twiglet #94