Two Tiny Stones
As I sat in my pea-graveled sidewalk of faded color,
staring at the tiny stones as I had been moments before,
staring at the cliched simplicity of bee and fall
flowered exquisiteness of nature’s beauty with no other
thoughts than the images that laid before me,
I reached for it, a transparent piece of rock truth.
Was this the same pebble Frost noticed in the bottom
of that well?...Place this truth in the light. Watch the light
bounce and expel. Now slow down the process. Watch it
bend in my hand as I heard cards made of feathers
shuffling . . . .
in the overhead air. Turn to look. Sparrows pass
by in the glare
of sun, and I smile. Then I see another stone,
a smooth
blackness balances. Is this truth?....
then the other one must be love.
staring at the tiny stones as I had been moments before,
staring at the cliched simplicity of bee and fall
flowered exquisiteness of nature’s beauty with no other
thoughts than the images that laid before me,
I reached for it, a transparent piece of rock truth.
Was this the same pebble Frost noticed in the bottom
of that well?...Place this truth in the light. Watch the light
bounce and expel. Now slow down the process. Watch it
bend in my hand as I heard cards made of feathers
shuffling . . . .
in the overhead air. Turn to look. Sparrows pass
by in the glare
of sun, and I smile. Then I see another stone,
a smooth
blackness balances. Is this truth?....
then the other one must be love.
posted by Sir James Eric Watkins at 11:07 PM
2 Comments:
Sir, thanks for dropping in on my poetry place, and for the invitation. I'll look it up! And thanks for your kind thoughts.
Well if it's not love, IT DAMN WELL SHOULD BE.
I really liked this piece it slowed me down long enough to see it, to share it, to wonder and hear.
xx, Lori
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