Wash

I took the stone in my hand.
The years of tumbling along
Were so apparent in its softness.
Washed down the river, broken,
Scarred in places, yet so smooth.
Washed away were the jagged
Edges, the ones which cut.
Gone were the delicate places
And instead were hollows of
Mystery. It has made its journey
To here on this shore. I am
Reminded of being washed
Myself, until my jagged edges
Become smooth and I open
Myself to the mystery of life.