We fear mountain passes, you and I,
And rotting cliffs. When words die out
We look for falling rocks
And black sides of stones
Stripped of lichens. We watch
The closed fists of young boys
On our street. We buy clothes
Without pockets for our children.
We ask them again and again
To show their hands.

We fetch every stone we can
To make our love lighter.

Yesterday our girls asked
How stones are made.
They’re sketching fossils, ammonites
Beautiful as diamonds.
In ancient cathedrals
I have watched them run
Fingertips over tombs.

—Leonard Neufeld, Gig Harbor, Washington, is an award-winning poet. Among other books, he is author of The Coat Is Thin (DreamSeeker Books, 2008) the collection from which this poem comes (used by permission, all rights reserved).