Stone

Chirping crickets tell me Im doing the right thing
by not saying a word, of how I feel, welling up inside
like a balloon filled with cold water,
By touch, Im cold. But not poetically.
Im just cold.

Stone is the edge of choice,
smooth.. collected
like the stones found in rivers
and streams when you were a child.
Fascinated by how soft something can be
that is so hard.