Scar Song

How vital you are, rock
that has appropriated conch,
waves of the conch,
drops of the waves,  
beads of the drops –

all in you holding together
along with barnacles, cracks,
tiny white x's like stitches -
violent-broken, perhaps
avalanche-taken -

the scarred beautiful of you,
including your dark side,
smooth gray strip that won't
balance if set that way.

I too turn from what
won't balance,
appropriate other, then other:
bead, drop, wave:
grow, break, grow.

Now I see the quartz in you,
small trapezoid sun
challenging this page,
thin wisp of cloud, waiting.