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Understanding Crinkles
On its surface a crimp and cockle
of a purling tide have rucked an impression
on a stone.
We are here to find Eagles
but the sky is too low and the wind too high.
You show the image on the stone
as if this were the very thing
we had been looking for.
I look at it squint eyed:
could be a crow
You throw the stone into Lake Huron,
won’t hold my hand
won’t speak again
until I admit to the endless possibilities
of crinkles, tides and wind
to produce
magical eagles.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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