To the Woman with the Dynamite
Rocks rigid like statues Layered into Unmountable cliffs Whose windswept faces Are etched With the certainty of Oncoming winter Whose heads are bald of trees Yet naturally they rapidly Separate higher from lower I have watched them point at feet That dip in shadowed seas I have heard their groans And seen their mumbling mouths Spew stones So, to the woman with the dynamite. You rock.