Water and Stone Poem, by gray0328, at My poetic side

She moves, a hymn sung in waves.

I stay, a hymn held in stillness.

She pours herself into every crevice,

pulls mountains smooth with her patience.

I am grit—compressed and wide-armed,

bearing the weight of trees, homes, time.

She nourishes the tender roots beneath me,

dances in loops, making the earth softer.

And when her reach recedes, I crumble.

My cracks run deep, aching for her touch.

I blister under the sun’s hollow gaze,

while she carries clouds too far away.

When she returns, she is apology.

I drink her in until I am whole.

And yet, she is not mine, nor am hers.

We belong only to this endless rhythm.

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