It was you who threw the first stone
and encouraged me to follow your lead.
You taught me the best stones to find: smooth flat and round.
You taught me how to dangle my arm and lean over just so,
bent at the knees head cocked
stone spun and thrown near parallel
whipped fast flicked wrist.
My memory of you plays out against a backdrop of centuries old glaciers
feeding waterfalls in a montane paradise of steep cliffs glittering snow,
bursts of life deep green cling to walls of stone.
You taught me how a slim stone skipping through infinity sounds.
But though we did not share these cirques, mountains, or 11:00pm sunsets,
your memory to me is as azure and deep as these alpine lakes,
wind whipped adventure struck on the way to the gold rush.