These five beach stones
from Nova Scotia,
mountains
in a sea of sand;
no two alike
in shape or hue
but polished
to a liquid glow,
glisten as if
water-soaked,
unlike the smooth
white ball of quartz,
(a turtle’s egg you
might well think)
set on a bench,
as if observing,
without thought,
that nothing’s
what it seems
to be, and yet
there is this
woven web
connecting ocean,
bone, blood,
breath.
—Sarah Rossiter
