Quietly, the Inconsequential

Three broken bones and still
I comfort the fearful; cracked stone
among stones supporting the mortar.

It's not often now I think of dying.
I'm busy awakening flowers,
their small mouths opening, startled;

slowly the inconstant light, how it
turns from joy to sorrow.

In the natural world, all things
fear the unknown, how it swallows
the living, disassembles the bones,

rearranges the overturned fields
into meadows of grasses.  Yet just

on the other side of what matters,
the seemingly inconsequential life of a stone
stays riveted in a constant state of denial, 

quiet, hopeful and strong.

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