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