In the bag of little river pebbles
Was a thin sliver of ragged glass.
It was merely a bit of glass
Got into the aggregate separator,
Someone explained helpfully.
I tossed it away then, still unaware
Of the miracle of holding a centuries old,
Odd, small piece of glass in my hand,
Dredged from some long extinct river-bottom
That could only whisper stories
That had no tongues left to tell;
And above that, the miracle of finding
Any human particulate matter there at all.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Oh this one IS good! I love to pan, and dig rocks; some of what I find that means the most, could seem the least... but, ah, not so... look deep. GREAT poem.