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I hold within my palm
a rock
it is smooth
and shaped like an egg
the colors like calico
wet with rain
it comforts little my ache
it mends me not when torn
it is just a rock
and it lays in silent jest
if it had a mouth
it would be smirking
“I am just a rock”
it would say
flat toned and heavy
my fingertip runs long its side
softly wanting
but know not want do I
what peace would it hail me?
what deep secret could it tell me?
what indeed is your story?
it’s just a rock
for heavens sake
but it comforts all the same
a foe to my pain
muse to my poetry
I think I will keep you.
INTO THIS DEEP 