three tiny poems
 
crafted from stardust and stones—
 
best reads of summer

 
 
 

Triple-digit temps—
 
stones along the garden path
 
hold their heat all night.

 
 
 

Where do stones come from?
 
How did the crow get its voice?
 
Why do you ask, child?

 
 
 

In a world of tongues,
 
the stones lay no claim to speech—
 
but the tales they tell!

 
 
 

I no longer know
 
the difference between stones
 
and cherry blossoms.

 
 
 

The wind tells stories
 
while stones and foxes listen
 
and the stars keep watch.

 
 
 

my meditation:
 
the sacredness of water
 
flowing over stones

 
 
 

an empty river
 
but for traces of birdsong
 
left among the stones

Footprints

 
 
 

On a cobbled street
 
an old man leaves his footprints
 
lodged between the stones.

Miles

 
 
 

a path before me—
 
only the dust and stones know
 
how many more miles