what carries me

i notice how, just moments before skipping,
river stones can come alive in my hands,
as if they can't believe their luck,
the possibility of this one slim chance
for flight, and how far I might be able
to get them, how deep in the river they'll go once thrown.

what i love is how buttery they are,
basic and light as wings, a beautiful sphere of aerodynamics,
and it's so easy, so easy then
to just let go.

what carries me are the stone and the river.
what carries me is the flight, the possibility, the depth.
what carries me is the way the arms swing back just so,
the silk of the water's surface, the aim,
the slicing through of air.

what carries me is the trail, the way in,
that old sign that tells me how many miles to this or that.
what carries me is how else to get there.

what carries me is the map.
what carries me is maplessness.
what carries me are lungs and nothing but the wind.
what carries me is hunger.
what carries me is longing.
what carries me is a dark house.
what carries me is a porchlight, blazing.