All those pebbles,
they whistle my name in hushed tones.
It is I
who threw them
into our backyard pond,
breaking its silence,
its monochrome serenity,
and rippling its sane emotions.
The still water, a ponderer’s haven,
a pool to reflect,
became a storm
posing questions behind my home.
Brick and mortar,
laid over the pebbles in earnest,
forcing them to groan
under the load of a house
laden with life’s residual gifts.
But they still...
Oh, they still have the will
to whisper my name.
-- Leslie
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