“Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason.” Novalis

“Somewhere in the world,”
my poet friend liked to say,
“there’s a stone that wants to fly,”
and I want to believe
there’s a stone that wants to fly,
maybe some magic stone
that doesn’t know it’s falling,
or like the Rosetta Stone
that doesn’t know its speaking,
or beach stones skipping waves,
arrowheads lean with hunger,
David’s stone and malachite,
moonstones to fly by night,
pumice clouds in the sky,
all stones that want to fly.
It could also be any stone
you happen to pick up
and weigh against life,
tell me it’s not flying
and I’ll know you’re a liar.