Wild Stone Hearts

 

Jared Lloyd photo

I once worked in a place
where hurting hearts came
to heal.

As I walked the path, each morning,
I found so many heart-shaped rocks,
picked them up and placed them
on my desk.

Many big hearts worked there,
welcoming in the wounded,
the distressed.

The people wrote their pain
into letters, and cast them,
with tears, into the fire.
Every time, the eagles came,
circling above, in witness
to their grief for all that
might have been.

Sometimes in winter, we saw
wolves dancing on the beach.
Old growth trees surrounded us:
protection, peacefulness.

They arrived, those wild stone hearts,
heads down, in pain. But the Circle
did its work. Slowly their heads came up,
their eyes began to shine.
They rediscovered laughter and hope again.

Their hearts, so guarded, softened
week by week. Six weeks to ease
their suffering, to turn towards life again,
the way stones are made smooth
by eons of endless rain.