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.