working in the world
we forget the simplest songs
so I search for reminders
Look—this bowl of stones
carried home one by one when
shape or color or scar mark
speaks first, a firm greeting
an invitation to travel together
briefly
as all time with us is brief
in the life of a stone
Back in the kitchen
writing love songs to stones in my head
words lined up as if building a stone road but
Stop
remember to mind the time
dawn almost done
and don’t be late to work
over a stone poem
The moon, huge and stony
shines through the kitchen window
whether today there’s a poem or not
whether I am late or not
it glows
another stone for another pocket
Puff Of Smoke Poems 