Dearest stone,
How are you? It must be pleasant,
resting all day, being loved
by the warmth of the sun
and cooled by the rays of the moon.
Or do you tire of being trod upon
by careless feet, cursed at
when toes smash into your
smooth, hard side? Does it hurt?
When you feel like no more than
compacted dust, take solace
in the refuge you provide
for sow bugs and centipedes
and know that when I venture out
on smiling mornings
my toes will caress--not curse--
your warm, unyielding side.
Sincerely,
me
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