Turning.  

when my eyes were crusted and small,
full of sticks and leaf-covered paths,
I took the trees and stones of my backyard
and made them my tongues.
the gull and the pigeon became my arms,
and the flipping jackfish was my back.
the forest leaned in and prayed with me,
it winnowed my youth.
the river ran but stayed the same –
all the change was in me.
the world in all its phrases may spin,
and I with it,
but I will move much faster -
my tomorrow will crumble as it arrives.

© 2006 Mike Gravel