Ruth Pink
Burnishing
Blunt stones
half hearted
in elements of water
yet are something of it
as the river runs them over
sulks and dribbles
along the curled
lip of the bank
leaves smell dank
and brood in places
the sun never sees
here, moss is the shades
sodden carpet
the stones are dormant now
later they chatter in flood
whisper old stories of the mountains
have prophecies and forebodings of the ocean
and just as the lift of the
butterfly’s wing on the tip
of a boulder can whip up
wind to a storm out at sea
so too do the stones
overcome water and
make the boundaries
of the sea
Page(s) 27
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