Everything is a stone in a river:

your pain, your loss, your dread

of death. Every fire and storm

and plague.  And all

the grim gray

blots of history: every word,

every gesture of every king,

general, judge, every confession

of every heretic,

poet, liar and saint.

Step back

now from yourself, your little

times. That river is lined with

mountains, mountains

made of stars, stars

of dust of stars:  stones

of light in the larger dark.


Drop a stone in a river

and watch it sink beneath

the river dust

and dust’s dissipation.


You are dust

and to dust you shall return.


You are history, the river’s

brown water. You are

star and mountain.

Every stone.

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