MIRACLE

At stream's edge a boy
crouches, he's quiet, crew-cut
with cut-off jeans, two or three years
before the insult of glasses and
taunts of 'four-eyes' hurled
his way.

The man smiling, selects the smoothest
slate oval from a sprawling jumble
of rock. His glasses coated
with spray and rare kindness,
as teaching and a hint of tenderness
merge with rushing water. The boy
relaxes his guard just a little.

He shows his son how
to lightly cradle the wafer
by its thin edge between
thumb and forefinger, then
fling it far out over the creek's

swirl barely above and parallel
to the flow. Fast as joy, four hands
laugh and clap in a single burst
as this gray blur flies and skips
far across the roiling churn.

These two--happy magicians and
their own audience, incredulous
seeing another amazing trick--
have just discovered how to walk

on water or an ancient method
transforming silver into light
then back into anonymous rock again,

or perhaps they've glanced the secret
for dissolving boulders of shame and
sneer and blame into eyes that care
and hold, shine and dance, that
even slowly tame.