We are those stones

I try to step carefully along the river's edge
but stones
rounded smooth by water running fast
or slow
and then not at all

still hurt

when I become unbalanced
by a misstep.


Pausing to regroup and find another footing
I take that opportunity
to choose
a single stone

lift it up from the others
and hold it
in my palm

where I can better contemplate
the subtleties that caused its shape.

What rapids did it ride on a tempestuous storm?
What summer suns did it absorb and reflect?
How did it separate and flow past?

I am tempted to save it
safe in my pocket
but if I do, how could I stop at one?

To the river's edge I allow it to fall
back
into the beautiful obscurity
as an integral part of it all.

mj 10.26.17 poem