Stone Poem

Here on my back, fog softening its edges and without

clouds the sky is the color of cold light shining from grey silk lingerie it is

smooth and flat and could fall upon my head at any instant.

Above, I am able to touch the gulls so close and tiny until my mind shifts and

they are high above me again, pushing the sky off my nose.

Here along the shore the rocks are blushed with rose or bridally white and wet

and here is my stone its clear center scissored with milk and dunked from both ends

with soft marmalade. With the sand brushed off it is a little too small it is becoming dry

and dusty already and soon the unlocatable light will stop

shining through it. I am licking it. Just this once will it taste

like a truth. It is unassuming and firm, clean but not pure but not painful

not alive just there, summoning from my mouth its re-resplendence.

The sky is less flat now. I find it hard to notice

the ocean. Now my feet are gripping the diamonds

of fence rungs. Now it is dark and the inside of my house

is glowing like amber through the windows.