Rocky Road

The criteria for this poem was to create a history for a stone - the history being my own.

First

a shard

then

a shape

that dances as it tumbles

along daisy-ridden slopes

on a familiar Finnish mountain

it meets

the pond

and somehow

floats

defying beliefs and

expectations.

Hungry to observe,

it rests on a pad of plush grass

acknowledging its naturally darkened freckles,

picture thoughts

and neon dreams

of places it had reluctantly visited

last weekend.

Anxious with age

after withstanding tosses and kicks

the rock sits sweetly

on the unsettling edge of

a salt sprayed caramel cliff

meeting an intimate gaze

with a honey swirled,

passionfruit sunset,

ready to erode

to only a fragment of memories.