Sandstone
We leave in morning light
for a valley of misted hills.
Yellowed poplars flank gridded fields
as autumn turns towards winter.
Riffles of white light
dance on black river water,
as colours blur
caught in reflective liquid blend.
I come for the stone that waits
drilled and pinned,
curvaceous in slow erosion.
Crushed, milled, and fired
it yields
iron-rich viscous melts.
Mixed with dolerite
it flows
two stones in endothermic coupling.
In a time before time
