The Three Kinds of Rock

You search the riverbank for stones
smooth and flat, round
in your palm
to toss across the surface
calling, mom look
it skipped three times.

Stone in my pocket, stone
in my hand, the solid weight
just as temporary
as the water’s splash.

I rub my fingers
in talismanic circles
across the surface
certain of my power
to wear a groove.

Igneous, sedimentary
flowing fire or tiny bits pressed
hard beneath the layers
that came before.

A stone to swallow, a stone
to chew, crumbling shards
between my teeth
scraping across the surface
polishing everything clean.

A stone transformed
a bird flying
from a boy’s fingertips
lightly touching
the surface of the river
three times
before sinking down
through the dark water
metamorphic.