From Stone Poem by Sophie Cabot Black

Perhaps she called out for him to undo
What was around her. Or he found himself
Cutting the relentless into smaller, into

Meaning, into weight. What begins the fall;
Who first saw the path made clear, each tool
Practiced in the dark or the last space left

Which could open enough. Did she climb
Out over his dusty and fearful hand,
Or did he pull her from the still place,

The ache until one caught against the other.
Piece by piece was recognized. Beauty
As the way through. But what is done to the stone

Is also the stone. How much does he take
Before we can no longer bear to look.