in sunless air under pines green to the point of blackness some founding father set these lobed warped stones to loom in the leaf filtered gloom black as the charred knuckle bones of a giant or extinct animal come from another age another planet surely flanked by the orange and fuchsia bonfire of azaleas sacrosanct these stones guard a dark repose and keep their shapes intact while sun alters shadows of rose and iris long short long in the lit garden and kindles a day s end blaze colored to dull the pigment of azaleas yet burnt out quick as they to follow the lights tint and intensity by midnight by noon and through the worst brunt of various weathers is to know the still heart of the stones stones that take the whole summer to lose their dream of winter s dead cold stones warming at core only as first frost forms the icicle such stones keep their own time as god keeps his no grain spent such stones keep all times rolled round their aloof self ward i walk round them they hold still no mans crowbar could uproot them their beards are ever green nor do they once in a hundred years go down to drink the river no thirst disturbs a stone s bed 
['poetry']