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.

Diana Cole lives in Warren, R.I.

Posted in: Poetry, Quakers and the Holy Land

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