As though in prayer
He examined every rock,
And tree humbly.

Thick fingers picking basalt,
And limestone, as he thinks
Of games he’s outgrown.

Searching all day
For that special rock,
The hobby of a wanderer
Who has yet to stop.

The biology of landscapes,
Waiting for those wobbly hands.

Tidal movements
Improve his posture
And Gia, a mother,
And a father.

Craggy beaches
And their silent edges,
Created devotional men illumined by the waves,
And treasures.