Skipped

Their important words skipped 
like stones over the river 
flung with abandon, 
a practiced arm.  

I begged to hold 
the stones in my hand, admire
closely the pinkish grooves and grit, 
and warm them. Instead,

I followed every arc and splash, 

squinting for the sake of us.  

And they kept hurling
across the river their words,

as if they were weightless.