Roan

Here is a pebble in my sandy palms,
symbolic for my heart when the tide washed up.
Here is a pebble in its roan existence.
Still, moving pictures in a gradience of colors.
Here is a pebble in its honest appearance,
how imperfections give it a place in this world.

Here is a pebble whose scars struck mine
in lines of mahogany wood,
a pebble who blinded my eyes with its glisten,
a pebble who spoke to me in the oceany silence.

Here, take my pebble and replace it
with your scars,
as we send charcoal sparks into the skies above.
And wrap your gentle fingers around the delicate stone–
live with it in times of both despair and happiness.
And when your fingers die for breaths,
give it back to me in its pristine state,
for it is far too fragile to be tossed away
like the waves.