I have fortified my spirit
with stones
In order to withstand the sorrow of being
alive, sensitive, and aware.
But each rock was placed carefully as a cairn
on the ruins of my dreams.
An homage to their beauty and the color they added to the world.
They are with me;
like friends left behind on distant continents.
And I have doggedly resisted the panicked voice inside, advising
to build it up into a levy
so as to keep the world’s pain apart from mine.
Such an act would sever the human sacrament
of bearing witness.
Instead it has become an aquafer,
whose bedrock is steady even as
the groundwater of my grief permeates everything.
When other sources run dry,
this deepest well sustains the resilient ground
of generosity.
A riffle is springing up
across the center of my being.
It is a space that everything must pass through.
There is refuge here;
wild things may shelter here
for a time;
and breathe.
And when I am still, I hear the rough waters
singing.
