Sharpened Stones

Sitting at brackish-brown water's edge Hands, blue-veined, sore to the bone Strong searching fingers through muddied sand dredge Seeking Early Man's sharpened stones Breeze soft with whistles of melodious song Waves lapping rhythm to Earth's heartbeats Strong searching fingers through muddied sand long To feel that ancient, sharpened strength Floating on jasper and obsidian dreams My mind re-creates this place long ago Strong searching fingers, through muddied sand glean To reap Early Man's sharpened stow A stone sharpened to pierce, take down A spirit meant to feed, make warm, to survive Strong searching fingers, through muddied sand drill For the need to know him; sharp and alive Sitting at brackish-brown water's edge Hands all shriveled, sensitive, clean Strong searching fingers, through muddied sand, slide Touch, then know perfectly sharpened means To feel with strong tanned fingers, this To hold though none have held before Since one who sent this lance to kiss, Ask forgivness and become his store Such a moment is addictive Such a moment is quite rare What a victory to have been predictive I pray he knows, I know he was here