Small Change

Shimmering rays on wet stone in the swelling surf
Brow of the mason in the midday sun
Stone staunchly sitting
Stoic sentry holding ground
With the rhythms of the sea
Reluctant to change
But swayed by every wave
Just an infinitesimal grain of its body
Given each day
When it meets the water at high tide
Change
It
Must
Its rough edges supple over millennia
Change
We
Must
A sharpened shore without geologic time