Dave Bonta's "Geology in brief" is a tiny poem that squeezes a huge span of time into a few lines. It starts with a plain observation: there's no wind in a stone, only cold and time. A stone is stripped down to the bare essentials. Nothing moves in it, nothing stirs, and all it holds is the slow passing of ages.
The second stanza turns to dirt, which is a looser, more worn-down relative of stone. The wording is knotty, and the line "dirt getting all weary work to do" can be read a few ways, but the comparison "like us" is clear enough. The speaker seems to see people in the dirt: tired, burdened, and gradually coming apart. The final word, "loose," might hint at looseness as freedom, or at things crumbling.
The mood is quiet, dry, and a little weary. The poem doesn't complain, though. It simply sets human effort beside geological time and lets the contrast sink in.