Erosion

It fell into the basin with a hollow sound,

this rock that is mostly air and ancient fire.

It didn't splash. It just landed,

light as a bone bleached by the sun.

I pick it up and work it into the heel,

grind the rough edge of the year

into a fine, gray, salty dust.

The stone is full of tiny mouths

swallowing the parts of me

that got too hard to feel.

By the time the water runs cold,

the callus is gone, the skin is pink,

and the rock is a little smaller,

having traded its teeth for my grit.