it is not
some great boulder
sysipheanly shouldered up the mountainside
of some mystery

it is not
some annoying stone
in the soul
of your shoe

it is not
a grit of sand
bothersome
to the eye

it is
a single thread
silkstrong
and forever tethered
to the allmemory

it is
its own timekeeper
that freely freights across great boundaries

it is
sourceless
without grudge or grandeur

and the mouths         of flowers sing
and the bodies           of the oceans dance
and the light              of the sun
and the light              of the moon
                                     promise
and promise