Orphaned Pebbles Waiting
by Odin Roark

Atop so many refluxes and tidal flows
have I ridden.
Beneath the roil and tumble have I survived.

Now, at last, a fling of wave and wind
rests me atop the shoreline’s blanket of pebbles,
at the foot of your blue magnificence.

How very long ago it seems
your mountain spire shuddered,
quaked, and split my security open
into severed shards and razor chips
cascading into the sea.

We were all lost,
flung from your buttressed citadel,
destined to drift and pitch
in watered darkness.

But, you…

After your fathoms-deep eruption did heal,
nature’s abundance did soothe,
sunlight did transform devastation into vegetation.

Your island survived.
Your knife-edged spirit,
in spite of severed shoulders and face,
became a trembling echo of resilience.

Your ancient imagination made beautiful the scarring,
its many cave-like eyes held firm the watch,
your beard of tangled vines continued its reach far below
across a rotund belly of scree and sand.

Far away…

How peaceful this inlet shore,
where briny caresses have protected
and made available your pebbled orphans.

Patiently we wait
the next adventurous child,
looking to select, gather sort
and cherish one of your surviving kin.

As the sun dries my polished continuance,
I wonder if the journey will find new transport,
perhaps to a window pane, cigar box,
or an aquarium holding other friends of the deep.

Though…

I’m hoping to become a pocket buddy.
That’s the best, don’t you think?

To be a warm companion in the trousers
of a boy like the one hovering over me now.

He’s leaning down…