Twenty-five, (it’s reputation easily tarnished)
Is known for silver, soft
Metals needing polish and restoration,
But our twenty-four glitters with precious
Stones like Essen and Paris and Rome; semi
Precious stones like gardens, forests, mountains.
We’ve stood at low-tide and watched
As water bent the edges of river stone
Flat, oblong, eraser-like, fits my palm
like your hand.
Shoes off socks in hand we cross
The creek feeling the pebble stones
Poke and bite our feet, the portage
pained and hesitant but the opposite
shore another adventure.
Like an ice-rink or race-track
We cover years circling back
To the beginning, annually crossing
The start, each time a mile stone.