Held Gently in a Sacred Hand

the rock lies in my hand

it has traveled far

pushed by glaciers

rolled by quick flower streams

and now worn

and smooth it rests

smaller

and less defined

than when torn from the bedrock

it began its journey

so too this one who holds its worn smoothness gently

this day I wake

feeling worn

and less defined

made smaller by my tumbling twisting journey

worn away by life

eroded, or just smoothed?

I only know

I too am ready to find

a place of rest

where I am held gently

in a Sacred hand