this year-long rattle in my heel, finally free
oh, little stone! where did you come from?
did you chip off a Czech cobblestone? A Parisian stair?
Maybe you found me outside that coffee shop in Boston.
There’s a streak of green on your side – is it Viennese?
Perhaps it’s Guilford moss, or from the walk in the woods around Oxshott.
you have walked with me, far,
I wish I could put you back.