Stones
Meet it with softness
said the stones
and you turned, puzzled
by the words that crunched
underfoot
while a clear dawn lit the dark stones
like candles
burning brighter than the
ice fingered hands
that held each one
in place, you thought
or together
or maybe aloft
and the stones chortled
tinkling the ice
like bells at a
threshold
saying yes, that
but even softer still
like what came before: rain
then stars
then morning light
and suddenly
you knew to open
your own hands
and release
the stones you keep
in place
or together
or maybe aloft
and turn instead
into the morning, held
by all things
in the light.
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