Hard as a rock
your heart sometimes seems,
usually when my pickaxe is dull and worn…
What do we do then
but turn away
with heavy sighs
and shrugging shoulders…
What if, instead,
I stopped trying
to pierce the surface
and simply waited by your side
for the rains
and the crashing of waves
to soothe away the stony edges
naturally…
What if my willingness
to wait with you
became like
the warmth of the sun
after one of those healing storms…
Maybe then
I can lay aside my pickaxe
and just watch with amazement
as you become
the weathered soil
where new life grows…