Stone Flower Gray Poem by James McLain

Deep in the rock
as deep as each drop
of rain
over time cracks
appeared
there end, end to end in
and out.
I some times wander right here
back some times back to there.
Some times
waiting to see
the first crack of the sun
through
the blinds
like that I feel on my face
every where.

Even then as I started out
alive in the sun
as simple
a thing, living a life, wanting in
like you all my life
staying alive, remaining alive,
sneaking in, I hope it's alright.

The flower that is, is not what is.
It is that thing, that stone thing
underneath from the sticks
inside of hers, my Mother's mind
though not as of yet
seventy nine years, eighty she will get
come this month.
Life unto death, sleeping in fields,
green leaved colored vines.

Some can't come to the supper I made
hypnotic tone
one octive apart there on the chart
sounds I make,
once way back when
I made the sounds, I came here to hear
that stone rose
the end is the end, when it ends,
is that the end that you want?