"The Answer".
"If you must shout, then I will be a natural wall
that shuffles down its shale when
dynamite blasts up the horned tree and all its snake roots
rise like Medusa's hair and stiffen into wood.
One rattling crack and I let go of my sling.
And down my chip, cutting the spleen work ends among fern,
and snail tracks calmly cover it.
Newts confiscate the stone for lairs,
and my flint answer lies where mountains
slip, and sink, and end in sleeping on their backs."