A grey oval, quite ordinary
save for a strip of mist on the edge
like a wisp of silver hair,
fits into the palm of my hand,
wanting to shine but pitted with age
and the elements. I hold it
when I want to smell the sea.
–excerpt from “Stone” by Donna Pucciani, in To Sip Darjeeling at Dawn (Virtual Artists Collective 2011). First published in Iconoclast.