Stone.
I did not learn much about the stone,
except messages were always left in rooms
where nothing was done.
Except this.
This waiting through night is clear and precise as stone.
Here he is.
Reflected in the flood, a sheet.
When the words were through, words and his figure
shrieked at the door like stone.
There were not enough words.
The words had him possessed.
The coincidence of walls were stone and what he accounted
for either way to the waiting.