looking out to a horizon
that could be from 1000 years ago
slap tapping of liquefied salinity
granite percussion
stone that finds its home on many city streets
or draped around some soft white wrist
there are whole stories and eras compressed
within its cool and silent forms
sonnets encrypted into that flecked surface
tiny treasures play hide and seek
no release in sight pending chisel and hammer
the artists mind changes its way
resurrecting it into shape and function
yet it carries its home wherever it may rest
the sounds of sea birds
the sweet smell of spruce and moss
giggles from the full lips of selkie folk
one has but to touch the surface
to see and feel
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