I threw a stone into a pond,
and where it sank, neat circles formed and moved and moved
and splashed the shore where my toes met the silver-blue rings
with squishy, muddy hellos.
The rings beyond continued on, much farther than I could see—
past the half-submerged log,
past the mama and daddy loons
with their babies piggy-backed three.
Waves skinnied by a bobbing boat, fishline cutting the wake;
they moved and moved past docks and weeds and minnows feeding,
through channels ever deepening and wide,
and on and on, the concentric current pushed to touch
a stream, a lake, a canal, an ocean,
and a foreign coral shore,
and brushed bare toes with gentle, silver-blue hellos.
Who can know what one little stone can do.