Raspberries and Stone

You were prying river rock from your lawn
and listening to two women talk of men
of lovers friends and husbands
and how one cannot be any two of those

Wrapped in my arms on a warm summer night
your voice is cast in shadows and doubt
as you recite the day and fearfully try to fit me
into the day’s small talk

What am I supposed to be to you?
I hear you ask in so many words

You and I are people who know berries
and get lost in the work of birds
we are fragile
overwhelmed by a day
by an hour
by the casual conversation of two women in the sun
by warm lemonade
by stones woven into the ground by wandering water
by the fear of love
and the heart's insistent recitation of loss

Watch the birds among the berries
how the insects work the flowers
for they teach us that even the stones will yield
when the work is steady
for love is the labor of life and life a labor of love