To Fathom

I take each stone into my curious palm.
grub-gray, salmon, rounded well and calm.

They speak in syllables of sight
marbled, specked, saturned with white.

Recast with each tide they practice silence
search to find an uneasy balance

and work a graceful way down over years
to a grain of sand, to a death without fear.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

Maximum of 400 words or 2000 characters.

Comments on Friendsjournal.org may be used in the Forum of the print magazine and may be edited for length and clarity.