Shared Hills Poem by Jean Bernard Parr

It is the fear that wakes me
Firestorm of lost opportunity
the fear that awakens,
Dresden of wasted time
That was my yesterday

My sharp-angled love,
that forgotten flint tool
Lost on the hardness of
A wind-knapped mountain
Unable to share, lost
Under a strata of pain

It was love that saved me
From stone cold squeezing
As you forced me to flee
From the sharp mountain

We scrambled into our
Unstable and rusting craft
Dumped the core sample,
sandwich of ore
Full of memories,
Not of stone
But the bullfighters' gore.