unable to gain traction
on the rocks of an old gravel pit
where lesser things have fallen in
only to reappear much later.
Their memories tend
to leave them completely unrecognizable.
When they finally reappear
they bare scars
and now treadmarks
if they’ve decided that now is the time
for them to attempt their surfacing.
In my youth I have imagined
quicksand as I would this gravel
as a tunnel to another place.
Something that has a beginning in plain sight
and an end I’ll never know
on the other side of the world.
(A grand notion
to be sure.)
Here the end is the beginning
and the reality is
what’s lost in the gravel
will eventually be found.
Not by the people looking for it though
it’s going to take its own