Rock to rock

Maybe I was just born
with the skill,
hop,
hop, 
rock to rock,
bare feet,
curling,
to fit the curves,
of the rocks,
below my feet.
Up,
hands searching,
little edges,
that happen to be,
just the right size,
cling,
lift foot,
up,
up,
jump,
rock to rock,
perch,
atop the highest rock.
I am at peace,
the oceans breathing,
in my ears,
the rock solid
beneath my bum,
the sky above my head,
clear as the freshwater streams of Vermont.




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