I pick up a tumbled piece of Jasper,
turn it over, let its cold permanence
calm me, remind me of eternity.
Swirls of tan and gray form a churning
river in the stream-smoothed stone, a round
eyeball staring hard from my open palm.
The mottled stripes blur into another passage,
re-emerge streaming like the Milky Way on
that starry night so magical, so innocent
in all its splendor before the dawn
of September eleventh.
first published in St. Anthony’s Messenger
also published in The Oak
also published in FLOOR OF THE SKY Chapbook
©2012 Bonnie Manion