Once I walked beside a mountain stream and stopped

to gather up a rock that caught my eye as it

flashed in the cold edge of melting snow.

Its blackness seemed to hold the void of

space and time.

As it dried in the sun’s heat, it showed itself

also to come from fire. In some other age, in some other

part of the mountain, the earth’s molten heart had erupted,

and once free become impervious stone,

immune to wind and weather and further violence.

I put it in my pocket and brought it home to you.

Late at night you might hold it in your hand, and

the lava will flow like your own hot tears….

Then I will mold it, too, into something new

and beautiful

in your image.

Daniel J. Cox

09-14-2014