Stone

You found me in a coven of wicked minerals
Where all we need is a flint to strike
And throw a spark.
We are little mountains and hills that look alike.
Suns setting in spring make us dream
Of glowing in the dark.
As my brothers and sisters watched
with silent anticipation shimmering in gray eyes,
you lifted me against the brittle slate of late winter skies;
you looked at me for a second then turned me in your hand.
One palm one thumb plumbing the depths of ridges and cracks
that bristle along my broken surface:
am I too short, too long, too fat, too thin--
at a second pass would you find me again?
I don't sparkle or glow...don't change your mind;
Do not let me go...not until I am in the flow...
Not until I'm sinking below. Your arm whips and
I am slipping from your fingers and I am sailing...
Without a canvas without a mast;
Not even a crew to tell how brave I flew.
The shore leaves me, full of rocks and my family and
my past stories. I touch the water lightly then skip
to the next center of future ripples.
There I flip, finding flight to my liking
What waits is even better: all glories
And beautiful breathing where even
the air is wetter.
How hard it is for a person to be cold, wet, and alone,
But how wonderful for a stone.

3.16.2006