What stands guard over the deep river canyon by night;
moon gently laying it's beams to rest as it gazes into the dark water below
becomes a great, grey obstacle to the thirsty traveler by day.
What is hidden in the crusty red soil of the desert in solitude long forgotten
becomes buried treasure to the wide eyes and soft little fingers dig, dig, digging in the sand.
What was tossed upon the wet white sand by the careless water
becomes a moment of resolution, hand holding skin to slate-smooth skin; grey heart, grey sky, grey stone.
What flows with the waves of my inner ocean, what soars speck-high on gusting thoughts, what rages in the night fire of my belly becomes still, solid, satisfying stone.
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