Summer Stone

A small ocean on my lap purring black slumber’s cat brine

And out the window, buoyant whales buzzing drowsy, sweet from flowers

To sun’s lingering pink kiss;

These small, spiced lords engorged with warmth,

Confident in their sunrise

and their sting

I am no lord,

though I, too, want to drink down this

disappearing June sky that tickles my heels and

Pulls me to the heavens

Where I dare not live

I peer further and see a wall of rocks standing quiet watch

moss

blue

gray

brown

and green

humming a fermata of the dying summer day

I envy these rocks

As they weather the whip of your approaching fog—

Cold, unrelenting, and darkest white—

Hoping that, in time, the sun’s rays, oh the sun’s rays

Will favor their dark depths again

And green buds will tickle

their hardened shores

There they sit, steady and unflinching,

content to hold on to the bruised sky’s brief warmth,

And hold