Mountain and Stone
There, is a mountain and a stone
and the stone lies in a dry course.
Washed there, but when?
From the mountain?
Perhaps, and not alone.
There, is a mountain and a stone
and as he places stone in hand,
fingers touch line and crack,
smooth and rough, high and low,
into his heart he takes the stone.
There stands a mountain, where the stone?
Replaced in a dry course
but not the same,
awaiting questions of its source
from another who seeks, unknown,
Patiently, patient, they stand
the mountain, the stone,
but not the bone and flesh, no
not the flesh and bone.

copyright 1997, William Davis