The Pebble Poem

Angles of Incidence and Reflection

Morning sunlight strikes a bowl of pebbles.

on the window sill.  One catches my eye.   My  hand

reaches out to a flattened round of smooth stone

larger than an old fashioned pocket watch.

It covers half my palm.

I study the  fine grained crystaline gray surface

that  shades into swirls of delicate blue.

A streak of pale gold glistens

across a scatter of  splashes colored like the moon.

It remains inert. 

It does not purr.

Is it Beautiful? 

Is it  stone Truth?

Where and when  did I pick it up?  And why?

I donีt know.

But something  nameless quickens my hand.

Something stirs behind my beholding eye.

                                                                                                jjr 2/14/07