Pebbles Of Past

I land pebbles in a pond’s stillness, 

            smooth or round or engraved with shell

                        fossils flickering from foggy timelessness,

                        telltale totems from eras unknown.

They are yet younger than us together, newer than the ever together

                        from which our myth was made.           

They are of the things which menace men within and without, women want,

            over which we find no rest but sometimes sleep,

                        shallow and shifting and swollen with unsayable sanctuary.

They are of the time when our lives were lightly lived and delirious we died

            in sublime supplication.

And were born anew of unquenchable need.