I
when I first carved the birdbath
from a huge tear-shaped stone
I found in the New Hampshire woods
I thought it must have split in half
the night before I stumbled upon it
like a ripe pink granite egg or fruit
the world had hatched into two
perfect tears I tried taking them both
but one was too heavy for me
to carry the fifty feet to my car
and so I left it there where it fell
out of the igneous soul of earth
and when I got the other home
and tore into that pink bespeckled flesh
chiseling out the biotite and feldspar
with eight pound hammers I carved
a shallow tear-shaped bowl for rain
to fill and didn't give one thought
to that act of making some thing
out of the flesh of tears you found
while walking in the woods alone
II
the granite birdbath
I carved reminds me anger
can make lasting things
*
I didn't know how
much I loved birds when I carved
the granite birdbath
*
this tear-shaped granite
birdbath fills with rainwater
that cleanses feathers
*
one-by-one the birds
take turns a robin waits for
the finch to finish
*
you learn to hit things
hard and not break or shatter
your spirit carving
*
how long will it out-
last me this birdbath I carved
a lifetime ago
*
as long as there’s storm
no man need fill it or watch
birds bathing in it
*
on the surface floats
a feather that's forever
falling through the sky
Read more of Edgar Gabriel Silex's poems in the Spring 2015 edition of the Delaware Poetry Review.