Smooth Pebbles 

Firelight is dancing on the water 
  and the second moon is spread 
  like silver scanlines on the lake. 
Pebbles nudge each other to alertness; 
  they feel the first lazy caress 
  from the horizontal pulse of   light and water. 

I have heard pebbles lapping up the night, 
  long time rolling with the rounding earth. 
They are not complaining that  they will soon be sand, 
  nor harking back to their  glinting fracture 
  when they were high on tumbling hills. 
They are smooth and satisfied. 

Prospector and geologist will gather 
  gaunt and crystal rocks, 
  to prove their value in a pan, 
  or plot their structure by a microscope. 
Pebbles are for children, matching colours, 
  gathering wishes, wealth and wonder. 
Pebbles are for lovers in lieu of jewels, 
  like pearls upon the bosom. 

Pebble-words can calm the  terrors of a child: 
Lu-la-lay, my little one; 
  you are lapped and wrapped 
  in warm waves of love. 

Pebble-words can chafe away  the gaucheries of youth: 
Come over here, my little wolf! 
The world's a thousand miles away; 
  only me and you are here upon the strand, 
  with the night stock-still. 

Pebble-words are the abacus beads of common 
  conversation between two   whose lives have been worn 
  smooth with each other's roiling. 
So long, my love, good night. 

Pebble-words are wearing down to sand 
  and soon will trickle through the hour-glass. 
No more talk from lips gone cold, 
  no tilting gesture from the mask of death; 
  only memory of moon and idle water. 

Waters of the world have run down 
  and carved lower beaches. 
Pebbles once moonlit are no longer laved, 
  but lie buried beneath the grass. 

Yet firelight is frozen in their secret core 
  and liquid pulse is locked within their grain. 

Words of Flint 

Before the skins of record were unrolled, 
  or sun-dried reeds took imprint of their desire, 
men flaked their flint-words from the rock, 
  the rock of their own digging. 
Palaeolithic poets, unrecognized, 
  carved their songs in air. 

I make and sing ear-words: 
  thunder-thunder like growling ghosts; 
  sharp shouts of hurt and happiness; 
  brute-beats and hissing water 
  make my two ears prick and tingle. 
My two ears sleep when ghost-growls 
  sink in heavy night. 
I hear sleep-sounds, far sounds 
  from mouths not moving, 
  think-sounds from eyes not blinking. 

I chip and chant eye-words: 
  green growing things and red-running; 
  legs and limbs on white water; 
  blue breathing and diving dark; 
  black where all things stop. 
They turn and run again, sparking. 

I break me running words and feet words: 
  tracks with no trace of hearing; 
  sand sifting through toes; 
  grass like sleep and no more running; 
  feet like fingers falling on warm clay 
  make marks that shout, Ola! 

I fashion finger-words: 
  Touchstone, my little mana, make rain go 
  and sun shine on my wrist. 
  Touch me top of cloud and tip of fire; 
Let me twine the hair of Lila. 

I browse with brain-words: 
  dream in the dew under slanting tree; 
  intoxicate with brew, the borders burst; 
  counting steps along the lonely trail, 
I lull my hunger and see an antelope. 

Words of coming, words of flying; 
Make-words, shaping and bringing; 
I sing and shout 
To make a morning!