I have a thing for rocks
Their shape, their color,
Their feel under my thumb.
At that house on the lake,
The front deck was lined
With them, mostly mine.
I wonder when my aunt sold
If they were swept off
Or thrown away. Please if
You see me set one down,
You see them lying
Not on the ground
Don’t move it, let it be.
It could be mine,
So think of me, the next
Rock out of place you see.