Feel the stone, the time weathering, the grain softening. Bring it home. Touch the skin. You know it like your own. How the skeleton moves within. There's something inside everything, the secret, palpable, moving. Later, in bed again, watching the sky light up, rumbling. Feel the building, the bones quake. The electric air quickens the pores of your skin. You tingle, absorb, release yourself in particles, softly eroding in time, time like weather, the body in time, weathering the world within the world. Try to write a poem that feels like that stone. Try to write a poem that feels like your hand touching the stone.