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.