Meet it with softness

said the stones


and you turned, puzzled

by the words that crunched 



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



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.

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