strung together

to each of you: know that

you are the stones that sit in the river of my heart

and not the water rushing around them,

you are the trees that grow along its banks

and not the leaves on the trees,

you are the beaten tracks that girdle those old hills

and not the pilgrims.

because you are not the leaves, the water, or the wanderers,

I can say your names without malice or hurt

merely tracing the landscape of this soft place,

my habits and my hurts.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s