stone

i pick you, the way i pick
the same stone in a spring-circle,
without knowing, it is the same
i tapped and whispered your name to,
in a low, bluesy tone of letting go,
as if a whisper echoes more
than a plain voice, without memory,
around these lands of longing
and irredeemable desertion,
one more time, i wade around,
to the bottom of my sinking needs,
for you, and lastly, but breathlessly,
hopelessly, for me