stream of consciousness

By wood and by stone
the honing skills
look like running dogs on mountain tops

by steel and by fire
the birthing pangs
look like that woman's face of creation

by wind and by rain
we are in pain
looking like clay objects formed in dust
where the mud of our hands
work like hours to the bone

by stone and by rage
our ages
look like the notched hills of time
and our tiny hand and fingers
look like lichen
clinging to the rock faces of earth and life

by blood and by life
we dissect to human forms
our torn and battered bodies
look like the broken spoils of Men

by birth and by death
the wind on her features
brings her out of the garden
and her flesh is on her bones
and her name is on her tongue -
Humanity