Honing on Stone

pulling to coil
peeling stone-veneer
the knife
the edge
whose shape is sharper
by what isn't there
you see what is minused
mingled with oil
in the slick stone surface
you see the momentary-flecks
flicker and wonder at their passing
you never see the perfect
discovered edge
the edge you are
yet all you aren't
feels its cut

---- Poem by James Milner