I’m tenderly moving the stones
around the velvet-lined box of cedar.
Some I pick up to examine, peering
into their deep and light shades of color
and clarity. I’m looking for accurate
roughed and authentic, untouched yet
polished by time and conflict. I’m stringing
the gems together to tell the story of what I
see and don’t see, of what I’ve heard and know.
them on to the
travelers of tomorrow. Some will wear them frivolously
around their necks and writs yet judge them
kindly. Some will keep them in the box
and miss them altogether. And
a few will caress the stones for precious meaning.
The words—they fall short, fall short until
they pass through the blood, are washed with
to pierce the dark by blazon light.
©Bonnie Saul Wilks
Paphos, Cyprus, February 12, 2014