Rock in Stages

The rock shows allure in its rain pose. Gardens sting with what the flowers fail with. Points of stern gallons close over less than words but all you know. Trembling guards read Bonham's death, as drummers go. This rock, stump of granite, nixes namesake in a throng. We could go on, training the years to fence. Justified range fans the fire, creeks spill and merrie, then summer closes. What were we listening to, gabbing over the news of something else in the world? Our cares in instrumental sentences, launched as a trustworthy time in time. You called when the death of Bonham could be true. Straining funds needle the rest of the trance, that is, the old folks were laid out strong. Or weakening, really, as the rain undermined their footing, and summer emphasized some fading. My years, your years, the craning towards the marsh grasses and rippled by wind all proffer a picture. Stop on this dime, present, older, and remake the movie. The rock remains.