the swans and eagles visited
when i lobbed your ancient firestone
in that indian lake
thousand years of resurfacing
took a second time, god tests me
i listen to my voice
more than his
baptised by my own free will
in that indian lake
if ganga wouldn’t take me
by golly, maybe kitch-iti-kippi
the icy freshwater spring can kill
unsure if the second choice was just
or if ’twas first, that did bring it back
which rhythm, songbird, shall you sing
you dove in after the second rock
fan of leaping, living for the taking
and poof!, that is that, small splash
in throwing him the second time
returned a gift of bluestone, green, from gray
when i looked upon the shore, you were still there, love
i’m making a new choice this time
not gold, not black. pure
allow what is to be
and we shall see how many
years will pass by, before you come again