Saturday Poem

Stone Poem

The doorstep of your existence
is the morning’s clean slate,

a stone on my soul’s roof-hurdle,
a single necessary step
by love’s wall. Simple, stable.

I’ve never understood why people hunt
for crystal, or a lump of gold,
or a diamond. I’m simply

grateful for the stones at hand,
meteorites from the sky at times,
the magnet that holds two ships in harbour,

the loadstone of sensibility,
and the long stone that in an age of gravel
rolls, and gathers no moss,

the whetstone of my brain,
flints demanding an explosion
beneath the tissue, a fresh quarry.

Stone upon stone. Milestones
I walk towards happily,
chirping like a stonechat.

by Menna Elfyn