the present of water

to write in stone

I like to write in stone,

though I don’t do it much,

mostly I “etch-a-sketch” with my students

and I usually don’t know when what we’ve sketched together

holds in this memory and self enough to matter,

I’m proud of stone steps I laid down to the creek:

no mortar, careful choosing and placing,

a rightness to their look and function,

much of a stream is the present of the water,

and it can flow fast 

and the water before me, that is, soon isn’t,





the rocks endure and shape what the water can do,

though in the long run they too are ephemeral,

I recently looked down 

and a rock at my feet looked out-of-place,

when I picked it up it looked to be a hand axe,

carefully crafted unknown years ago

by someone gifted to write in stone,

and then it was lost,

until the craftsman in me found it,

and I joy that what we craft might be found again,

though loss is deeply inherent

in the stream of each life.



by Henry H. Walker

April 4, ’13