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)