Ripples

I haven’t seen your naked stars
Silhouetting rolling hills of
Jack Pine towers, haven’t dipped my
Toe into the ebbing pool, filled

And drained by water baptized in
The Mackinac Straits, for longer
Than I care to remember. Where
The stones still echo hollow songs

Of iron ore and copper, where waves
Gently kiss the grain away from
The face of agates, century
On century–no, I haven’t

Been home in too long. But I trust
The stars have not abandoned her
Quiet eyes, the pines still standing
Witness to the ambling of time.

I trust the ripples from a stone
I threw a decade ago still
Move among the muskellunge and
Trout, and I do not doubt the shore

Is home to stones of coiled fire, shot
Blood-red with rust and purified
Beneath the gently lapping waves
Of Lake Michigan.

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