from “Skipping Stones” Krysia Jopek 7. I am afraid of only some of the uncertainties. There isspace to fill with song. 8. The cello strings shall be restrung gingerly; the horsehairbow pulled taut and waxed with renewed purpose.One does not forget how to bow—though the handsmay, upon initial contact, tremble. 9. Blackbirds shift, flit, twitch, stutter, complain—untilthe bread hits the snow. 10. The Book burns with a light that pierces at first andthen quells into a safe halo-ing. When I shut my eyes—the letters and smallest dark stones, minuscule obsidianpebbles—become blackbirds. 11. The birds of onyx alight their path on the surface ofmoving water—now vertical, now a pattern of formation,one unit—one gasp. Their oleaginous wings willlater shift the horizon from snow. 12. I see you, you know. Right through. How stunning—you are. 13. The House [of Being] is ready to shed. Behind theshed, shed everything: your guilt, best intentions, evildeeds; the lies you told because there was no other wayto exit stage left without drowning. 14. Lucky? No. Re-lucky? A four-leaf clover spins usagain. Finds us. [We should play the lottery.] Raw. At thealtar. Bleeding? Yes, but cleaning. The eyes for seeing,bellows for breathing, hands for recognizing each other’sscars—in the Book that becomes us. 15. My darling, my chariot, my House, my hands—weall shake [with] the earth—its cracks under surface, itsperfect imperfections. The way we need. So much. 16. The present [where the wise man lives], I havewrapped for you. Take this box of heavy stones. Theyare problems for you to solve. Sentences you must play [End Page 268] with your lucky numbers, with your memories of fun.They will help you forget winter by spinning faint sun.We can forget almost everything—except the painfulmusic. So raw. How it moves everything—us, the House,the Book, the blackbirds, the river, my cello, my darling,this shorthand. [End Page 269] Krysia Jopek Windsor, Connecticut Copyright © 2019 Johns Hopkins University Press