I am collecting stones They are free and no one Stops me from gathering them I fill my hands with stones Stones know this world They know the power of cold And heat, have lived through loss And displacement, and have learned The need to hide the secret birth Of bright crystalline growth I am no thief, breaking the Rocks to steal their jewels I was judged by black-robed men Wrapped in false piety who Stole and sold my child This loss haunts my days And poisons my sleep History is packed dense and full Inside each rock but I do not Wish to crack them open My soft worn fingers weep red tears In my drive to decipher the gift of Stories from the faces of stones It is slow work reading the stones The stones are plentiful and heavy They weigh me down So I do not blow away