The new stones have arrived from the sea, their bruises and changes waiting for my hand to hold, let them dry and shine in the sun— to finally see them from all their different sides.
These stonelings exude such a soft subtle energy, full of the rubbings from the kiss of elder stones, every flower and branch, the caressing light that endowed its finest filigrees to their evolving form.
I held them, tossing them into the swirl only when the night called for their return— part to become the sun’s diatoms; others to become our stony mask—all,seeking the crack that once made them whole.
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