Melting of the Stone

the prisons and the dust storms slip away, dissolving out of sight beyond the closing of the day; and who alone believed how I could make it anyway? or if my tracks would fill with dusk in a silent shadow-play. as the city lights come on and light the dark, my spirit wanders through the streets and to the park; and though my skin is free of scars it bears the mark, from the bladed sweep of facts writ cold and stark. and as I fall beside the statues in the rain, beside the cenotaph that’s dripping down the drain; and in the melting of the stone I can’t explain, the bloody nature and intent of love and pain.