Bowl of Rocks

A bowl of rocks-

It was music he gave me

Something I cannot hold in the hand

As even a rock

His words humble

and true

always

I sit here

and roll them around

the lifelines and creases of my hands

and in that elemental transfer

feel his music

and his humble true words

castles

and mountains

have come and gone-

their excess

and subsequent reductions

and nothing could mean more to me

than this bowl of rocks

which he has become 

and the music that remains

always