She Who Gathers Stones
Savors wooden fishing boats,
smells of creosote and sea-soaked pilings.
Longs for frogs sandpaper callings
in spring speaks with sapling trees,
steps past spiders stringing webs,
walks softly on old river stones.
Opens nights windows
to hear the rain fingers tapping
as she drifts in sleep, shivering
to winds song shifting as it swells
with force, feathering her roof
with pine needles.
Watching a woodpecker
drum a dying stump,
she stands
in silent study, collecting
birds dreams. Her eyes reflect
forests, seas and clouds,
while she gathers stones
into her arms.
Within her gaze, waterfalls
drop to running streams.
These, she loves down
into memory
to meet and move again,
returning them to her souls
silence.
Copyright © May 2005 Joanne M
Uppendahl
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