Sandstone Carvings

I could write my name
on this stone
in the blue moonlight
partially rising

The blank space,
the untouched, unyielding surface
sandstone
so rough
and yet
softer than mountains
I think
rising over and over the horizon

Where is this cool breath, this tired shape?
if I am yet alone
the piñon bough forms a shepherd’s crook
and I sit down.