Dust from the graves of time-dead stars
waits in the magma of a planetary core,
is delivered of earth’s molten womb
against the will of a jealous gravity,
unaware it’s only inert stone,
as blind and dumb as dirt,
but wonders why things sing and weep,
on a rock whirling between infinities.
A sculptor imagines stone’s child
can be chiseled free to take part
in a conversation about eternity
among mortal children of mortal stars.