by Eric Symphorosa

Would a life spent
Be worth the grain of the stone
Carved into a deathless obelisk?
Would its name be sung beautiful and loud enough
To warrant it house's silence?
The soil bleeds with the straight pins of obeli.
And unbroken flesh trembles in slim, descending shadows.
What is your weight for fear?
How joyous your hue of new blood?
Upon thinking, in dreaming:
Does the coolness of stone prevail?
Should the coolness of stone prevail.