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River Rosary

I visit your bank daily,

gathering small stones

to toss into the water like prayers;

each stone, a bead in my my wild rosary.

There are days when I think,

surely I've touched each of these stones.

I recognize their heft. They feel like companions and

I say, "I'm so glad to see you again."

Then a day comes when it's clear that water

has rearranged everything--nothing is familiar.

Every stone is new and this feels like betrayal,

though I know river can only change course if things change.

How will I learn about gratitude if all my life

I only know the security of sameness?

Still. . . stones for my rosary remain:

Just different stones and different prayers.

"May I disappear in order that those things that I see

may become perfect in their beauty from the very fact

that they are no longer things I see." (Simone Weil, Gratitude and Grace)

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