|
|
The Stone Seeker and the Stacking (Free verse) by darkshark
Stones counted and stacked in a humble pile
Between an old milk carton and switchgrass.
I have known every one of them before they
Were here; cold, lifeless, and still.
They moved with rhythm, soft and steady,
Footstep over dead branches, no noise
But the warm crumble of soil against
And between toes.
They spoke in voices, hushed as fading
Cigaretes, and laughed like leaves blowing
Through the willows and turning against
The cliffs.
They were motions of quicksilver and
Moments of flagstone, sudden but sure
To feel for the right grasp and hold on to ropes
And bookeshelves in the cold.
Surging so much like stormclouds
Bounding across the broken sky in billows,
In puffs rolling into more summer justice
Jagged in the certain blue.
That was then, in the cherry-sweet spring,
When a daffodil was broken in two,
Shared for each petal to be placed in the cupped
Hands of the wind.
Lifted away past the eyes of geese
And bluebirds winging back home,
Until the yellow becomes a past event landing
In a distant span of rocky earth.
Now we are here, back among the burnt orange
Of autumn, when I can see the skeletons
Shaking off their verdant shrouds, when I can
See through to you, hidden for so long in the flickering shade.
I look forward to the snow, awaiting foot prints
For the permanence of that sinking
To the ankle, the wet reaching in above the
Boot to remind us of the stones living
Underneath.
They come in all sizes, from a thumbtack to
A paperweight, so I choose carefully, making
Sure I leave the thin ones aside, placing the thick
Tumblers first, letting them dig hollows in the earth.
From there I build, until all that is left is
The sliver of stone I almost neglected to see, lost
As it was by the antmound in the weeds,
But I searched twice, and now the stacking is complete.
Back to poem details
|