The Pick

Smooth like the river rocks near my feet.

Though I dare not disturb its flow,

I wonder if a single finger would improve its form.

 

I’m giving my brain something to do,

To figure out the shape of each rock on the river bed

Distorted by the water caressing its outmost skin.

 

To be seen through the water,

Enough to know what’s on the outer layer,

But not enough to know if I want it.

 

In my finite wisdom and careless desire,

I pulled one from the bottom that I thought I’d like.

I held it in my hand and saw that it was different.

 

It wasn’t what I’d expected,

Lines that I hadn’t seen before,

A crack likely from its early life.

 

I went to put it back but it didn’t fit.

The river already started filing the space it once lived.

Though I’m sure it wanted a better human, this rock was now mine.

 

I won’t bore you with how I came to treasure this rock,

Although those stories are the reason we are all here.

But this rock has changed my course.

As I once changed the course of the river,

Even if only ever so slightly.