Simplicity Poem by Troy Cochran

It may seem strange for a man
to sleep with a little white stone in his hand,
but I can't resist the urge to hold
something so ephemeral as
the weight of a mineral city
abustle with the stirring about
of geological activity.

We awaken and arise together now
like two lovers coming to know each other
the morning after first discovery.
I yawn and stretch with a satisfaction
as if in possession of something lasting.
But dreams are mute and fast forgetting
the long ruminations with the under-earth.

But man must get about his day,
must find his boots, his arms and legs,
assorted dressings, remember what is worth collecting.
Stone has only to lie there pretty
already fast asleep and nesting
in the consummation of my blessing
the over-estimation of her simple worth.