Stone and Storm

It doesn’t ever start so easily as a storm

all thunder and bristle

“I am here, and I will be here.”

A stone is a stone, just as it is.

I’m sure there was a time

when the stone felt fear as well.

Here I exist

complicated, uncertain, beautiful.

I am enough, just as I am.

I can do what is needed, just as I am.

I am here; I will be here.



We could feel

the crumbling edges of time

begging for full demise

gripping steadfast

unable to reply.


My bones speak to me

simply because I listen.


They sell small tales

of growing up, up, up

from valleys vast

breaching cliff

smelling rose.


Sails, cast aloft

sails, weighing heavy

sails, catching song

fueling foray


the ocean’s middle name.