Kicking a Stone
She and I kicked, one
swoop at a time, a stone
towards the Peaceful Pines
Creek. I held her, pink,
as we watched the stone
retreat from my ever present
boot. The sun trickled through
the pines, a friend from years
past. These mountains hold
memories of becoming, they
murmur gently a song of
remembrance. Our persistence
was triumphant as we gave our
last kick good-bye. The stone
fell in the center of the creek,
we watched the water ripple
over its brow, and silence was us.
First published by Tinwhistle Press, Poetry Anthology, April 1998. Page 13.