This ritual of stepping on stones out of the dark
has been imagined into existence by a god
or an oddball trickster – and I must cross daily
believing only the latter could create such a
precarious escape. If my two-faced provider
chanced them into being, then I too gamble on
their pattern when nights are the worst – not
just for not seeing [it is a different yet act of
faith all the same] – but because the next day
inevitably follows. When I fall, that too is a
coin-flip away from splatter or levitation, though
either is as fleeting as the occasional winnings.
Here is a rite of passage where the step away is
always ended on a stone stuck in its beginnings.