For my grandfather...

A rock

is not moved

by the

river

passing by.

It holds

its ground

as the water

flows around

it, breaking

the unending

tide.

A man,

like a stone,

strives to

be solid,

to hold fast.

He stands

against

the current

and forms

and eddy,

the flood

off cast.

Over time,

the rock is

worn smooth,

its sharp

edges erased.

It sinks

beneath the

surface,

becoming one

with the

waves’

embrace.