Fossil Record

There, repeated in sandstone stripes:
A riddle of ages,
A knock on the record,
A keeper of hush.
I'm not sure how many bones
I've let settle in that silt of tears,
Of wrung hands, of neatly
Folded-refolded tissues.
I wish you would move
Against my fault, shift
Your scars lengthwise and down.
Let's find a rise from opening air
To the calcified veins
Of our strata.