Talking Stones Poem by cristian beraru

The fire in her eyes, was so appealing to the dark
Raft sounds, lonely dock, the jetty rocking
Burning oil rising
Glow through the trees
Surely she'll send you a sign
maybe that was it
Lights in the canyon fire in the distance
Lightning bolts in my glass
A face in the static
Water bathed in by monks
A voice in the ground
Chipping away until it's no longer yours
Rubbing and rubbing until they're gone, and their all but holes in your head Or talking stones in you bed.