I am the flattest rock,
the ideal skipping stone,
born for throws cheered by loners and throngs maddening
with every skip a step on a path
After each side-slung hurl I sink to the bottom
(where I spend most of my time)
until low tide when they find me, irresistible,
but too hard to hold, too stark a contrast to imperfection, to weakness, to humanity,
tossing me anew
and making certain I know (as though reminder were necessary)
that while beautiful,
I am just a rock.
Whenever I allow your fantasy
as if to give way.
More and more I feel life’s splinter–
grounds groaning, walls cleaving–
this house teetering will soon be dust.
But I don’t care.
I am utterly untroubled.
When light replaces foundation
I know I’ll be home,
for the first time,