The volcanic rock on my desk performs solidly.
I identify its presence.
It returns me to this room, this desk, this body.
I observe the rock: It is an eye heavy with silence.
It is an ear consuming space.
It is a memory of a clear day on the island of Samosir.
It is returning me to this room, this desk, this body.
Like Uluru, it confounds the astral, stating,
You do not know what it is you are like.
Personality, igneous rock and oblivion are the same.