A tumble-rush, whitewater roar, the river races, mad
as its name, over cobble
and ledge. Kingfisher rattling overhead, I wander
a jumble of boulders beached at its edge –
granite hump-backed, sun-bleached, streaked
in ochre and dun, glint of quartz.
Amid this wild scatter, a rock the shape of my heart –
two lobes tapered to a point,
tumbled, humbled by water, grit, the hone of time,
ground down. Once jagged, sharp,
now weathered, worn smooth. A heart I can hide
in a pocket, hold in my hand.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 20, Issue 3.
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