Sweet Seeds Poem by Sailing to windward

When I curve a round pebble
into that silvery black skin,
I hope for very little sound;
A tiny per..lop perhaps,
as my small stone parts that skin
and for the water to toss a few droplets
quietly into the air, as it colludes to cover itself again.
If my wavelets bring the slightest nod
from the wild rice
waving at the fringe,
then I am at ease.
And If even one seed falls into my canoe,
then my day is complete.