The Stone Skippers
Beyond anywhere you might be now-beyond
the debris of all those elsewheres and whereabouts you
promised yourself you would inhabit if you had the time and
money (as if you could will it … as if you knew the direction),
children open their wide morning eyes and wade chest high into
stone skipping days, into neck deep light, into constant
conversations that bleed the mornings amber.
Heaven is found in unlikely places by the mindless young.
There they populate ships and destinations out beyond
the cadences of flowering water circles and fading rings
left behind by past stone skippers.
And if you had memory, and didn’t wake up in broken
nights with your hand at your throat counting the relentless
ticks and tocks of the clock as though your heart was
running out of beats, you could know all this again – wake up,
as if in the light of another world, feeling perfect skipping stones
beneath your fingers.