A door opens on the big stone
The one big enough to be a tomb stone

Why do we mark tombs, death places, with stones?
Why wet a rock, to make it shine?
Why let its dust enter our lungs?
Perhaps we’re envious of their timeline, so much longer to become, decay, undo themselves
Between two friends, someone has to go first, become first, decay first, undo first
It won’t be the rock