Skipping a Stone

The stone I found was flat and thin
enough to skip. With practiced spin
I let it fly, then watched it soar
and dip and soar and dip, in four
balletic arcs. Each bent to win

a brief kiss on the bay’s blue skin,
which spurred a new flight to begin,
as if recovered passion bore
the stone. I found

it odd that something gray as tin
and dull as dust showed grace akin
to that of gulls. I’d seen from shore
some simple physics; it looked more
as if desire had danced within
the stone I found.

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Jean L. Kreiling is the author of four collections of poetry; her work has been awarded the Frost Farm Prize, the Rhina Espaillat Poetry Prize, the Kim Bridgford Memorial Sonnet Prize, and three New England Poetry Club prizes, among other honors. She lives on the coast of Massachusetts.