Matter

Rockfall from the Watchman
Just before 4am,
An uncanny crunching

Under the Harvest moon—
If a mountain falls down
And harms no one, does it

Mean a thing? There’s constant
Crumbling you don’t always
Notice in the surface

Of this mostly static-
Seeming canyon landscape,
Little fractures daily.

Only rarely humans
Suffer for it, as when
The couple in Rockville

Were crushed watching TV
On their sofa, flattened
Under truck-sized boulders.

Humans blow mountains up,
Of course, tear into them
Like so much cake to eat,

And this desert southwest
Is pocked with carious
Copper mines and coal pits.

But matter stirs itself
As well, and will not stop,
No matter what you do.