River Stone

When centuries are seconds,

Water shapes stone

with the gentle assertion

of thumbs in clay,

smoothing from ancient, crystalline fractures

the soft, living curves of flesh.

Be water to my stone,

So I may rest in your hand

smooth as a fresh-picked apple,

cool as a stone

left by the river.

Let days become decades;

I will give your shaping flow

the grit that discovers

the flesh in the stone.