James Walton #7 Marble

Marble

There’s a cat’s eye in my hand,

it changes colour with a spin

and sends out a different aspect each time.

Rolled on the grass refracting all angles within itself,

absorbing and emitting light that’s crossed centuries of lives.

Other fingers have dollied it,

pondered the aggregate in the middle,

how the black, red, and blue create green and yellow in a fall.

Someone had it before me and before them;

lost it for another to discover.

All around this big cerulean marble,

hands have closed over this captured rainbow

of continents merged in thought, and wondered at the turn.