Hear the stones listening

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.