Arts + Scene » Poetry

There are stories in the bones of fish



The mirror moves in rhythm with the rain falling.
We are called to be still;
let it ripple in circles away.
We are clear skies reflected in water
We are dark moss on flooded rocks
We are the roots of reeds and tadpoles
waiting for warmth.
We are hanging from trees,
jumping into the warm lake of August
and again we are water;
the moon glitters in our smooth surface and stars.
We are earth too, grounding hearts
newly tilled soil that invites seeds;
Some have fallen on rock.
Some were stored in the ice,
thawed and revived,
light dusty brown and blown,
settled 'gainst the bones of fish.

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