A man, a craftsman, he was as
understanding as time's passing
but more forgiving; was a voice:
resonant as a great chamber, a heart's
chamber, large as he was small,
rich as he was poor, powerful
as he was gentle. Chamber music.
Simple as green. Complex as Bach.
.
Sometimes working for hours
trying to shape the thing just right
it must have seemed a night journey
gone astray in a fog of solitude,
so I wonder if the soapstone
(heavy as these belated words,
soft as too-late good intentions)
sometimes made him angry.
.
But all fear must have dissolved
in his private peace so that even in anger
his dignity shone through: translucent
as understanding, as time in the
unbounded chamber of this world,
this heart, where he still lives,
still speaks, still shapes
the paradoxical stone light.