John-Michael Rivera

This is not a stone…

One thousand years ago he saw the whispers in his ear     One hundred years later, at
moments, whether he heard the words, he now saw himself take notice     and then the
episode began again     His hands shrink the stone into a batholith, creating a bottomless
caldera that reflects a tide of phosphorescence in his eyes     He maps the stone with the
quill of a quetzal: 39.705°-105.08°     this directs others to him     His deep etches mark
the stone’s location in a palace made of pyrite he once lost     He places the stone within
a travertine box, refracting memories traveling within water particles that evaporate on
his skin     Today, at moments, whether he heard the words, this is not a stone     he will
continue to collect     it

john-michael rivera