Here,

I say, offering up the cup

that is nestled between

my cold palms.

The steamy liquid, an ode, a prayer:

try this version of life on.

Why not believe that the current carried

your stone away and brought it back

to you when you were ready?

After all, you noticed it dancing

at your feet downstream.

You recognize it’s heft and roundness

like that of your own body.

The water gives

        and carves

               and carries

                 just as much

        as she takes

and transforms.

Why not trust

that the comfort in your cup

is the same as that in the stream?

Why not ratify

that the same molecules

are rippling inside your own body?