I saw this old man collecting
rocks by the sea,
like they were memories of dreams discarded –
Jet black with stepped grooves
silver with cream fungi
that looked like a million eyes.
Each with a story to tell,
a story so rich and full that
there isn’t enough of life to listen.
perhaps for the man by the sea,
who is now gone with his rocks.
I think he is resting on his arm chair
listening to the whispers of his dreams.
am left wondering
which of these rock’s
are mine ?