Stones from the cold
river, each unique
Trigger
I lug them uphill
in the hot sun
loaded like a donkey
with things that are not mine
Conduit
Circumstances
like arms and legs
Gate
to help in the
practice of perfection
Cross Over
There are hundreds of ways
to kneel and kiss the ground
Transition
What is needed arrives
of its own accord
Letting Go
Then you can hear
what the wind has to say