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 

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