THE STONES

The stones we have thrown I hear

fall, glass-clear through the year. In the valley

confused actions of the moment

fly howling from tree-top

to tree-top, quieting

in air thinner than now’s, gliding

like swallows from mountain-top

to mountain-top till they

reach the furthest plateaus

along the edge of existence. Where

all our deeds fall

glass-clear

to no ending

except ourselves.