Material Marriage

as rocks tumble from mountain tops
and the wind steals the smoke and the dust
to hide those pieces away, inside purple flowers
in the river vale below, the one who winds ’round,
devouring whatever dares linger upon its edges,
with waters who lap like tongues
and froth like the hunger of lovers,

as those rocks tumble,
I saw his life around him,
bowls and picture frames undusted,
scattered dishes round sink and stove,
and laundry waiting for her soft hands
home sweet home has to be right,
to quench the thirst and hunger
of both, who cling to the tightrope,
mountain connected to mountain,
as they – carrying too much too soon —
fall into the ash and the stone.