stone upon stone
marks my presence
my promise to pass
what I’ve learned
of the land that its
posture embodies a
welcoming gesture
an offer to settle
one’s peace build a
home upon ground
virgin fertile receptive
to dignified seed firm
foundation for nutrient
footsteps down arable
furrows who give up
these stones to an
ethical plow one by one
over time of my journey
each facet each jag
a reflection my virtues
my vices my fortunes
and forfeits distinctly
positioned to stimulate
cool contemplation by
those who may follow
From my book Ephemera
Perfection
LikeLiked by 1 person
many thanks
LikeLike
They had no where to run, so jumped back in time.. Hopeful that they would get trapped in the trouble.. Yet the freely give information, about what they have travelled though…
i find that disrespectful an useless waste of lives…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Lovely!
LikeLiked by 1 person
thanks kindly
LikeLiked by 1 person
We called them ‘ducks’ up in the High Sierras well above the tree`line, the only dependable markers along a trail lost at one’s own peril . . . Memories!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’ll gladly take your word for it, as my trips above treeline were most always by elevator
LikeLike
Instead of ‘Unfinished Rocks’ you have ‘Finished Books’. That picture instead came immediately to mind. Your promise to pass on fulfilled with each one.
LikeLiked by 1 person
thank you dearly, anne-marie
LikeLiked by 1 person