skimming stones

we all stood at the edge,
the edge of the world it seemed,
that was how it felt,
in our young socks.

the buckled horizon
ironed itself out
and stretched from ear to ear.

from the pile we each chose
the best stone,
the one that would never stop,
from here to home.

skimming stones,
we would watch the spell of the surface
the solid space it shapes,
and yet how easily it breaks,
one, two, three or more.

those were our dreams,
so beautifully fulfilled,
at the edge, the limits of what we could see,
or read,
or could even try to believe.

i watch now
scudding clouds, the birds tossed around,
in my new clothes,
with my old eyes,
i feel like skimming stones,
all of the time.

skimming stones

uncleblack

Joined February 2010

  • Artwork Comments 6

Artwork Comments

  • Debra Rhodes
  • uncleblack
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  • uncleblack
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  • uncleblack
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