worry stones

004
rubbing the worry stones
until my bones wear
down to the contour of the river
stones rubbed smooth
set into the shore
filling in the bank
where the heron watches
and the beaver take
the young saplings
tender and pliant

I was once that green
and could bend like the willows
weeping at the edge of the water
their tears filling
the deep blue holes
where the old catfish hide