galactic supercluster

my friend Pat once carried a 5 pound rock miles through the high desert so he could mail it to me. it's nearly a perfect square, the rock that is, not the desert which is so vast and layered its downright dizzying. every time Pat wants to send me a present he texts first to say its okay if you hate it just give it to someone else, aye? wishes he could send them in secret anyway, but then they're always impossibly perfect. funny that he ever considered i would give the rock to anyone else, i mean, i'll keep this rock for eternity. even if i give it to someone else, who, i imagine could appreciate its unusual squareness, its heft, and the way it reads somewhere between mauve rose and apricot, at least half the heart of matter is that Pat, with his aching knees and wretched lungs, did the near sisyphean to bring it to me. i will be buried with this rock or maybe we'll both be crushed up and shaken back out across the shifting shale mesas which is frankly where i'd want forever rest even if i wasn't so obliged to return this rock back to its first and maybe final on the western slope. if i can ask for any more than that, i'd want the canyon walls to forever echo Pat's pebbly voice saying 'pretty good, aye'? while a juniper wind ricochets through the settling dust