“The insolent quietness of stone.”
To gather beach stones is to catch the eye
Beneath transparency receding in a wave,
And reach the sand before your hand
Draw up the dark margin of the empty wet.
There was one from the recesses of rock.
Another tumbling as in the prime of life.
Others as though sounding out the lake,
Seem older than the geologic clock.
And when I dig one out of the sand
It is to shake the grains from the sky
And see the stars of many million suns
Alight from the alluviums of night.
Something of myself each seems to take
In whatever aggregate, color or shape.
My erosion compliments their insolence.
My quietness is like their perfect lake.