when i touched the stone

up in the fields
near the windmills
and the sky
there is this stone

covered with lichen
and moss in the cracks
weathered and worn
and polished edges,

rough from rain,
hail and frost-
it emanates
silence

and its own time,
a breath of eternity,
a slow frequency
of beauty.

i touched it often,
my hands resting
on its surface
feeling the inside,

connecting with
the consciousness
and spirit of stone,
not waiting

for it to touch me,
i was still  aware
of a flow
coming into me.

but - you -
when i take your hand
i flow out of me
and it is -

it is already
making love,
the living touch
of soul and blood

in which you will
come nearer, as near
as songs in my ear
and as we move

unlike my stone,
we can walk together
and cross rivers
and the forests of past.

only i ask you
be there and here,
my stone to find,
our wings kissing

until the winds
tear us apart
and the endless
sea takes us away.