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Bernie |
Watching
Stones
March 20, 2001
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Winter is still weighing on us,
Wind a raptor's clawed caress,
Stark trees astride a sea of mud,
So I gaze upon the stones.
Some stones fit with a note of grace,
As though world grew around them,
Not complete without the dense shapes
Or honest rocky textures,
I do not worship the stones
But understand how one might
Offer a simple prayer to that
which has been here half eternity.
Forces large, old and violent
Gave birth to this dense matter.
Aged now, some are glacier worn,
Live humbly as chastened monks.
Each stone a lesser mountain,
Living at sedimentary pace,
Stone heart beats to phases of the moon,
I listen for the song of the stones.
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