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.