Reflections on life, meaning and purpose

Poem | Pebble

Under clouds cold as
blue clay, light seeps into

milkweed so it speaks
monarchs, and the wind

sings stones with voices
from where there are none,

from even before there was
anything to give voice,

calling in that gull’s shadow
angling in then gone

sumptuous as this pebble
balanced on my palm.