Beside the river the stone’s footprint
betrays its passing to the hunter
who kneels and presses his hand
into the imprint letting his fingertips
trace how long ago it had passed,
how much it weighed,
how long this had been home.
He searches the trail ahead for tossed
skid marks or broken shards,
but only this sole indenture
pocks the nearest horizon.
The river’s runoff rumbles
over sisters, brothers, cousins
perhaps this stone itself
holding its breath until the shore
carves farther east around the bend,
and dry land welcomes the stone
into its nest again.