Flecks of stone
Like so many toenails discarded
by a small choice.
Razor thin or chunks.
Each day his work was swept away,
left in the street and covered by dust.
The forgotten pieces of his work
mauled and crushed by the everyday.
He could not breathe life into stone,
but left eternal alabaster forms.
Like stone, I have been chipped and polished,
But cannot escape the rot of death.
The pieces of me left behind
will have to suffice.