Sunday, March 14, 2010

To the Archaeologist

I am your fossil
shaped by and for love,
a green leaf pressed into rock
long ago by
great heat and pressure
that fell with the stars
from heaven to earth.

I wait to be lifted and touched,
handled and smoothed,
softened by the grain and grooves
of tool prone hands.

I long to be studied
through eyes that are
rightly fascinated
by that which is both
ancient and ever new.

Turn me and sift me
with fingers trailing.
Measure me.
Lay me down...
pick me up.

Write me into your leather book.
Press me deeply into your memory
of permanent records,
a marking of your
latest excavation.

(c) Anne Bryant-Hamon

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