The Stones

Photo by Aron Fjell

The stones we’ve thrown I hear
falling crystal-clear through the years. In the valley
the confused actions of the moment
fly howling from
treetop to treetop, fade
in air thinner than the present’s, glide
like swallows from mountaintop
to mountaintop until they
reach the furthest plateaus
at the edge of being. Where
all our deeds fall
crystal-clear
toward no bottom
but ourselves.

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