As Heavy and as Light as One Small Stone

Lift me
from where I lie
in the weather

and the sunshine, where
for a thousand years,
I’ve watched white clouds

turn lions
into tea kettles.
Hold me

in your hand,
like a treasured stone,
and turn me over.

Beneath me
find the worms
and mud, and dig

into the fertile roots
that churn
with sweet life.

And when you find
you have reached
hard granite,

please find a way
to keep on digging
so that you hit

my hot and molten core,
where surely we
we will both be burned.

But we are not.

And all the while,
you hold me gently
in your upturned palm,
and I have no fear
of falling.

Sunday Spring

At long last, this wind
has settled enough
for the red-winged blackbird

to fly scarlet shoulders
through long shadows
and for the slow, wet glisten

of the evening spider trail.
All quiet save the low coo
of the grey dove, so familiar

and easy to forget,
and the clear voice of a girl
who is dreaming

of fishes.