The Stones Will Cry Out

If it was the unfolding tongue
of a tiger lily or the loosed
vocal cords of the chrysanthemum

I would expect to hear a female voice
perfuming the air with praise
to the passing prince.

But a stone shouting
always sounds male to me—
a gravely Glory to God in the Highest.

I could perhaps imagine
a pebble praising
with a pre-pubescent pip

or even a smooth skipping stone
singing Hosanna as she tiptoes
across the Jordan River.

A solid rock, though, speaks
with the voice of Dylan.
Not the young troubadour,
electric and rolling

but the Dylan of today
all marble-mouthed
magnifying the Messiah.

It would be a garbled Glory!
to be sure, but the harmonica solo
would cause even the angels
to pause and listen.

Published by asaur