by SARA KING CARLETON
NEAR the volcanic crack
That cuts across the stone
Time on the ledge’s back
Digs with a knucklebone.
The pebbles slip away
Between the pine and spruce;
Dumb-blind ho squats all day
Prying the mountain loose.
Here as foundations drift
And fall, how far, how far,
Interminably we sift
That rubble for a star.