the lake around which small bees dig holes

[schroedingrscat]

Okay, well, let's try this again.

Rock, for your weight
which fell and in my hand fell
onto the hard fruits of the plants
and the plants themselves,
their bodies conscripted
into the file and rank of stonefell

Water, for how your tiny hands clasp my beard
pushing in on all sides
and droplets on your skin after experiencing water
for the first time
the flax felled found new purpose
in keeping you dry across my prickly wet face

Stars, when you crawl
my wonder and your investigation
into your great circles around (it seemed) our world
with you I stick to the land
and its warm fires, cloth, and parchment (after vellum)
extolling the virtues of safety
you pushing the perimeter