at the end of the journey
a calm descends
small gifts are acknowledged in
the book of your life.
larger omissions are sewn shut
like skin that covers a bone
some neatly with small even stitches
others not so much
perhaps it would heal
leaving only a small scar
a memory that skips the surface of the water
like a stone thrown by a boy who smells like sweat and wind and summer
who has yet to learn of his deficiencies
written in braille on the trail head.