Small Pebble In My Jeans

my attraction to hard, born through a lost memory,
existed,
created who I am.

an unusual warmth from the simplest of minerals I’ve grown accustomed to, need
and cannot explain.

I greet them, inspect
place them in my hand
and slowly they enter,
my pocket. Mine. My anchor.

each time I revisit the Rockies
the desire arouses
matures, alters in strength,
becomes habitual.

these rocks, their immensity
I want to claim as my own,
every year unwilling to ask
I leave, unbecoming.

*What I Would Have Shown You

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