Circles
A crown of pebbles strewn about Th smallest thing at the tallest peak A chorus of winds sing from their homes Fewer flutters of crow wings than the amount of bodies would suggest It's harder but quicker coming down In the middle the rocks are about the same size Exiting the stone garden we enter forest as if combing the bristles of a brush Cool mud squishes between the toes of a clumsy salamander Done with our legs we let the circles do the work