my my,
have you seen the way
his hands wrap around
the stones on the roadside?
into the ground
his hands sinking further
down
my my,
he loves those stones
he packs them in his pocket
hides them
because he knows
a grown man can't pick
stones
i still see him,
picking them
he goes home
and adds them
to his collection
he cleans them
polishes them
and watches them
as the sunlight
shines through his window
onto the stones
making it seem as if
they are bathed with glitter
as if it is a secret
a secret only he knows
and he knows
that once they know
he will
have to let go
he will throw the stones
into the sunset
and hope their glitter saves them
and turns them
into dust
so
no one
will find
their secret
