LIMESTONE GHAZAL   My windowsill’s lined with fossils, whorled limestone remnants of ancient seas, lost bodies now limestone.   I’ve planted turmeric and borage, mustard and margiolds. Where do I pray my name takes root in time? Stone.   The beauty of rocks is all weight and shape, a poetry of heft. Stevens! I also cry, “Stanza my stone.”   … Continue reading LIMESTONE GHAZAL