A stone from the ocean upturns
and rolls, catching the sun’s glare
and you half-blinded
by the deflection of the water
as beams strike the ocean, your own pupils,
dark part of another
place that takes in light and then
reflects in the eye to focus
recollection.
Why pick it up?
Why admire its smoothness,
as though you could see just
surface? Throw the stone.
Skip across the water.
The stone will endure far longer.
The stone requires force to break.
Watch the water run off it.
Watch the sun beat on it.
If only you were that strong, if only
you could withstand harsh regret
chiseled into monument.
