I find a smooth white stone on the lake beach
close to the water’s edge
A thin crack marks its surface like a thread
as the lake hums low
while a south wind rises It will surely
make a fine worry stone
No sense to worry or regret let’s say
a thin mistake turned thick
written in a letter one cold Wednesday night
long after twilight
I’ve made so many mistakes late at night
while wind drifts the snow
a white stone with a thin crack
in my pocket
Michael Carrino is a retired English lecturer at the State University College at Plattsburgh, New York, where he was co-founder/poetry editor of the Saranac Review. Publications include ten books of poetry, the most recent Natural Light (Kelsay Books), and The Scent of Some Lost Pleasure (Conestoga Zen 3 Anthology).
