Stone Pit

by Vyt Bakaitis

It’s merely a pebble from the road
but why did I stoop to pick this one
still is an open question

I don’t need to describe
it to you, no gift was
intended, but the feel
of it in my hand, small
as it was for my palm
to close down on and have
it nest there, close
so I could feel something

Vital, but without thought
of possession, except it held
all my attention until
I no longer could see where I was
nor knew what to think
any more than I can
blink away stars
caught in the clamp
— down brilliance
the nighttime brings

As fireflies
spell out their wild
scrawl to convey a whim
could it be the pattern
to inform this experience?