A little stone in my pocket lies

Close to my heart, not less to my thighs

It weights rocks on my heart

Yet makes my heart light.

To the ignorant eye it is silent, ocher-brown

Yet I see waves in it, and ocean deep blues

I hear the seagull's cry, salt smell in my nose

I sense the warmth of someone close.

Tamed by time, water and wind

Behind it's smooth faces, it's core not revealed

The hand that picked it up, that place, that day

It's existence has so touched with a ray

Yet unrestfull, the stone holds a pray:

May I too have touched that hand that way.