lips grazed over stones glazed
with morning frost
as she danced with the past
grinding so close,
so not to read all that is lost...
only walking that line
that lies between numbers
one step forward
another back...then it comes to her...
and she only runs
only forward
in the moments that are now,
with her new friends
among the stones
that will never take a final bow...
but only wait
backstage
where no one is allowed
until she is ready
to see deep into the show
behind the scenes of all the things
she thought she didn't know
but she was always there
dancing with the stones
always on the run
but never really alone
as they held her through her life
and last moments, standing tall...
accepting no damn pity
as she readied for her fall...
yet no falling will ever come,
as she finally comes to home
dancing in forever moments
she will forever roam
and graze the lips
of future seekers
looking for a friend
among the stones;
illusionists
who only pretend
that stones are not alive
and that there will ever be an end...
there is just a now
she whispered
to the passing wanderer...
who danced with all the stones
and smiled as he thought of her...
and then sat on a bench by a tree...and wrote about living and dying and fragility...and then he breathed deep past himself into the earth around him and knew that this was enough for now...for today....and that was his prayer...his poem....and he hoped his life.
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