From With Real Toads–When Good Wishes Go Bad. Wednesday prompt.
Round, white stones
perfect and alone.
How odd, the shapes curved by the ocean.
I found you in a sea.
I had been drifting on a makeshift raft.
Counting constellations I couldn’t name.
I caressed your smooth unending circumference,
turning and turning you.
Tell me the answers and the points
of navigation in the charts. Direct
me skyward, seaward–I don’t care.
Millenniums inside your corrosion,
only a small life in mine.
A little life I solidify, erode, smooth
into the circumference of a cold moon.
Show me, love, the moon–her bone
pulling me along the tide, tell me
-where is it I am supposed to go?
I am turning and turning myself
and finding I have no edges, no borders.
Unframed with no key, a solitaire sphere in orbit
among grains of sand-each one a story.
I turn outside myself in these pieces
of the universe; we are such stuff
the stars are made of.
I plunk you back into the water-
you and I-
the rhythm of direction is a circle
leading us back into ourselves.
image credit HERE