of course we do
why would we not
they touched it, them
when the vessel marred the shore
and the journey was cinched
it was that salt-soaked,
rime-reefed
mound of gray
that they touched.
but how could we forget
so many other stones
that tumbled and crackled
down from mountainsides;
how many of those pebbles felt native hands?
how many were wreathed with flame and coal?
how many of those were tossed in the breeze
by children who played by the creekbed banks?
how many were marbles, polished by fire?
how many were clay-kissed and painted as beads?
how many were crushed by moccasined feet
and how many felt the rustle of trees?
how dare we forget those pebbling stones
because they touched it, them.
© C.S.G.