It began with the bemused, quick kick of a wrist;
Generous opening of the hand, to flight.
The first light touch on water: surface broken, tiny ripples.
With each touch ever deeper, closer together, more time & space under water.
And finally the stone breaks the lake completely. With sound and with weight.
Spiraling downward through the vortex toward bottom. Forcing space around it.
What if it didn’t hit bottom? What if were rejected; ejected by a force within?
Force pulling upward, and out of the water, creating a reverse,
wrenching, wave outward. Disruptive.
The stone strains against gravity, thickly moving toward shore.
Heavy in water, fighting depth; until
with less water, more air. Lightness yearning.
Skimming the surface reluctantly, because it has to,
as it reaches for that which released it.
Higher it goes, toward the hand from which it came.
It will land there, fingers wrapping securely.
At home. Held in a warm, welcoming palm.
And if that hand is busy casting another stone?
The first is forced to fall amongst the rest. On the ground,
warmed by the sun, until quenched by lake washing over.