fossilized ovenbird All I get is a still image. A flash and then it’s gone. You are curled on your side embedded in heavy grey rock, like you’re a living fossil. Your eyes are closed and I can’t tell if you’re sleeping or dead. Your hair is long and black as chernozem. Fanned to its full length, it radiates from your crown like a dark glory streaming up from the underworld. Your face is silent. Not a hint of smile, or frown, or pain, or peace, just a neutral mask that gives nothing away. I want to kiss your cheek, like a mother, like a goddess. I want to wake you. But if I can’t I want to lay down in the dirt and fit myself into the hollow you make with the curve of your knees and let my bones petrify so that one day, when the stone that holds us is cracked down the middle, they find the fused remains of what we were and know there is no name for the thing they’ve brought to light. 260928 what's it to you? who go blather from