Universe on the Rocks

The stones are warm in the sun.
The cosmos is in your head,
Maybe just the bits that fit,

But, for you, those bits are it,
Including the signs that say,
Warning, this has been compressed—

You should expect some losses.
But even expectation
Has to be compressed to fit.

The stones are warm in the sun.
You rest your cheek against one.
Just about ready, you say

To your harried social self
Inside your cosmos. Almost
Done, the stone sings, almost done.