A Boulder Field in Nova Scotia

In this field the boulders seem hollow.
They contain a kind of solid sorrow.
They set out to complete the landscape
Like painters on a flat canvas.
In the field the fog is stone,
You’re breathing into the unknown.
The boulders mark a withdrawn world
That’s present in their path,
And since their path is the past
Thrown forward where they stand,
The immense round weight of each
Is lessened incrementally in all.
Aligned like planets, they warp
Our reality amid the lesser stars.

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