Out of the stone ark that carried them this far
in their two by two progress up to here,
they've outlived everyone
and everything they've known—

he in his fishscales up to his waist, she
in her grunge hairdo of stone:
and on each face no guilt for surviving,
no stony comprehension

of all they've left behind, just a joy
so of the moment it seems almost heartless,
the two little stone gods grinning mad little grins

at whoever could be so foolish as think stone
thinks, as to think they could get close
to what those grins might mean...

And in the hotel room
where all this is happening, traffic flow
halting in its own stalled glow
ricocheting pane to pane, I'm

coalescing out of sleep, dissolving back,
as if it were the moment just before
the moment cracks
and I become a little god,

that grin on my face making me
feel a little silly, silly immortal, silly
not to die when my dad's

long dead, Amy's dead three years,
Benny died a year ago, and Jason's
just died, his stare still dissolving in the room.