As you listen to your angel music
you absorb the shock
of each hammer blow.
Steady the tool in your hands
which knows how you long
to lose the physicality of it all,
how tired you are
of mechanical thought.
Long practice of seeing
all that there is leads
you straight to the chase
of each crease and fold
the breathe and flow
of love at ease in stone.
Lost in the rise and fall
between here and there
a bird sings on your outstretched hand.