I like to drop pebbles into water,
watching them turn and swirl in the waves,
while they transform from a stagnant object
to one with a chance at life,
to cute craters in the foreign objects of rivers,
to carve an indented home into sand and clay.

I let them slip from my fingers to be pushed ashore centuries later
by some animal, in mouth or hand,
and if they hold my pebble closely
to the nape of their neck,
feeling its morse code vibration,
they will understand to let it slip through their own grasp,
sliding through the atmosphere,
kissing each fragment of pollen,
back into the pool of consciousness.