I would make of you
A river stone, washed and formed
To an oval nearly perfect.
Perhaps one curve swelled
Or an edge roughened still,
Permitting you to know your true stone self
From all the other stone selves,
Perchance you saw reflections
In the river’s time and magic.
You will be smoothed forever
Your surfaces soft and cool
Know your bulk and heft
As your presence parts the flow
Know the density of soul
The weight that grounds.
I would hold you loosely in hand
Then return you to your place.
Privileged to take from the riverbed’s wealth
This sign of earthly power.
The gods overlooked your beauty
But I have not.
