Skipping Stones

The stone has a short life 
bouncing on water 
then gone 

I would have it go leaping 
flat slate 
slapping the lake 
fifty times 
to the other shore 

But it can't be 
I barely get eight 
My son's sinks at four 

The stones jar pastels of 
fading light and a 
sliver of moon 

It is bits of ourselves 
we are skimming and 
this soft evening 

What we were at this moment 
is echoed and gone-- 

The water is glass

--Alan B., Adult.