we dream of being stars, but the only thing
we manage to achieve is being a piece of rock,
and not even the big one that shines with reflected
light in the night sky, but the ordinary pebble
polished by the waves of the sea or the stream
of a river. and while playing with one in my hand,
i admire the delicate line of its oval and its fanciful
patterns, the thought flashes through my mind that
the sun would hurt my eyes.
hidden pilcrow 