Our Passage
These
stones,
so rough,
we must take
care moving across.
Wet from tide they glisten, sizzle
and we splash a little looking for a perfect white,
a red one, blue, or purple hue along the weed-clad water line, the eager ripple
from the sea, reminding me of mother telling us
there's no need to rush or stumble.
When sand is shifting
pebbles move
around
each
year.
