(c) 2005
I want to tell you about the stone in my shoe,
the skipped stone once submerged
on the lake bottom.
It accompanies me.
This was the heavier of two stones
dropped from a bridge.
Though both splashed at once,
the lighter was the one to envy—
light enough to carry.
Stone requires fortitude to hurl away.
God knows I know it.
Its gray holds variations
that night and depths conceal.
Closed in the palm
it speckles salt and pepper
through my moods.
I have missed few chances
to study this stone.
It cannot be ground to dust by will alone.
Fire will not burn it.
It resists polish, bears no usefulness
except to be wedged into my sole.
