Haptic at Scale

Never not eerie
To hear a rockfall,
However safely
Distant from your flesh.
Faint series of thunks,

Inarticulate,
Of course, not even
Resembling language,
Thicker than thunder
But much quieter.

You might be standing
By empty wayside
On a cloudy day
In snowy canyons,
Cliffs on every side,

Silent as the grave,
As they used to say,
Not even a crow
Or a squawking jay,
The patterns in stone

The same as ever,
Same for centuries,
And then that rumble,
Stone on stone on stone,
You don’t see. You feel.