The Stone I Hold

Cold night winds
have whispered
of your refining

Resistance of time,
of thought,
of thirst -

The grit of sand filled waves
etching only the opaque edges
of your soul -

Inviting warm light
to come and rest
at your stone shoulders -

Unlike anyone
I will ever meet again -
in a world where most
are made of sand.

IJC
Vermont, June 1998

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