this rock i’m holding is no ordinary stone
it’s constantly turning whenever I’m alone
the water starts to trickle
look at the fountain
rust spots from pennies and nickels
three feathers growing swan dive arms out of my shoulders
these puddles of footsteps on the road
are they yours?
what remains cloaked by the veil of the bridal brook?
there’s an extraordinary staircase spiraling up to a throne and all of the angels are flying