Soul Stone

by Glen Martin Fitch

I plucked a pebble
from a sandy shore.
I licked it.
"Tell me of your molten birth,
Your journey from a crag
to ocean's floor,
of layered time,
of floods and quaking earth.
His eyes have flecks of mica, gold.
Like you he's hard and quiet,
full of mysteries.
Now hold you?
Toss you back?
What should I do?
Can I display you
near my coins and keys?"
I kissed behind his ear
and smelled the sea.
From whom his chin,
the gullies on his brow,
each scar
I want to know it's history,
I loved him then.
I want to love him now.
“I'll place you
on my dresser's sordid shrine,
Perhaps he'll keep his wallet
next to mine.”


Glen Martin Fitch's picture

Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."

Last updated August 23, 2011