like a desert
trace the ridges in your pocket
worry stone long held runs a mirror at life
like the rub of cold cream across the desert of your painted features
the skin a geography of stories like so many others yet alone just yours
life puts you under pressure tears plink rhythmically boring bowls into the surface of your days
not without regret you can still look forward
this now this vantage point this precious piece of earth this stone held dearly between thumb and four fingers
life dormant deep under the surface
2 thoughts on "like a desert"
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Love the focus on the worry stone as the driving force of this poem. I really enjoyed this.
Such beauty here–from ” the ridges in your pocket” to what’s “deep under the surface.” Every word carries weighty contemplation.