Stone of House

by Mary Harwell Sayler

Around my stone, I build walls
as thick as paper, scissor
sharp – a place where mice
can come to play with no
gnawing thought
of growing greedy.

Birds feed crevices with seeds
and grow good food to teach me.

Light shines through each wall
with no fear
of shadows turning.

No obelisk, but
hillock of stone, rock hummock –
flat-bottomed and rounded on top
like a cupped hand ready to open,
ready to whisk away
every obstacle as
angels and energy command.