Granite

Marble chips rake
at the outside of my legs
as I sit with ankles crossed
and trace your name.

On that corner stone of granite, standing
stiffly in a maze, I try to find
the warm place that I miss. And tilting
my head forward I watch
the droplets fall; they flow
their way to you
in new packed soil.

I brush away the white stones
and lay my cheek on warm earth
to listen for a whisper
from you.

Bindi