.....

turning the river stone over and
          over, giving it the imprint
                            of human cells,
        watching it take on
                  the oils of flesh, texture
                      smoothed
                                by this meeting, contours
      blended with light, back in the pocket
                 to age, slower
        than the carrier under woodland waves
              on the eaten path and the floodshore
                with a sweating mineral
                      close to the loins, becoming
                   a bicycle, a mover of particles
                              to be paperweighted
                    there is a hard line in you that will not be erased