Stone 20, twenty-ninth day

Struggling to Write

My mind feels like a stone, hard, heavy in
the hand, refusing to respond. I fight
to quarry one more stone, one pebble, chip
of thought. My stone mind will not answer. It
lies smooth and silent, maybe wavering
a bit like stones in flowing water, gray
or brown or black. Perhaps I ought to let
it blossom on its own, stone opening
like petals, offering color, texture, scent
in its time, not in mine.

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