I can hear the stones
Listening, sometimes.
Old gold yet youthful at the
pulse,
Engaged and curious.
How they grasp
At the people and
Seasons passing
at a furious clip.
Dizzy
in emotion
yet they
play with inert alert.
The opposite of
certain brethren
Who sleep deeply,
Exhausted with forgotteness.
I whisper “thank you’s”
Of gratitude to
Them both for
Even when Broken or
Brazen,
In their seeming solidity,
everything, everything
seems to swing
Towards the possible
Once again.
