Stones and other Quests

 

That stone I thought was mine
Is apparently not, nor will
It do to find another, stones
Being under the will of
Someone else. I find upon
Reflection I don’t mind.
A childhood friend said

Looking down is the only
Way to find good things,
Old knives, screwdrivers
Forks, wrenches, cups
Parts of dirt bikes
And buggies, perhaps
A twenty dollar bill.

But it isn’t that reality
I seek, that being
Hitherto defined, but
What’s beyond, back
Behind, dreaming while
I walk.  I can’t take it up at will
But grab at it when it holds still.