skipping mantra stones

morning sun

I’ll close windows to
nervousness of crickets
on the lawn…
sweep day’s edginess from
musics of trumpets…flutes
and timpani, to sense
a deeper resonance
of cello…bass vibrations
bowed across my chest
and arms and belly…

where I’ll float remembrance
of weighing oval heft in
skipping stones that arch
stillness on round ponds…
of cradling straw streaked
hen warm eggs in
cold morning hands…
and I’ll drift in a presence
like Tibetan temple horns’
mantra wombs of Om

Bonnie Marshall

Artist: Andrew Wyeth

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