All Stones Unturned

I turned the world over again.
Strangely, it was so easy. All I had to do
was decide to do it, and already
the crumbling had begun.

The dust was heavy on my shoulders
until I turned, and strangely, it was
so easy. (It took
all my strength, all my everything,
all my soul; I wanted, I ached, I begged,
I hoped, and I hated.)

I turned the world over, and strangely,
it was so easy.
All I had to do was decide,
and it was in that decision that I
trembled. And hated. And ached.

In the end, it was nothing more than
turning.
Like a stone, soft, and smooth under
my crushing fingers.