By Mike O’Connell

came upon a stone half
buried in still wet sand
cold oddly angular dark gray
berg in a granular sea
going nowhere in particular
a tool of the earth now
wearing down ageless
with eons awaiting its
arrival on time
imagining its voyage to this
singular place
visualizing breaking tearing
separated from mother rock
thundering meandering off
to the stars
reunited with particular purity
nothingness urged on by
diminishing mass
i refrained my hand
from feeling its ragged surface
not wanting
to disturb its passage
even as little
as it interrupted mine



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