Fingers spread, I comb through a
mat of slender, tender chive strands
flopped and tangled among some
bushy flat-leaf parsley stalks until
I see a humped, hand-size stone
dark olive, spattered mustard yellow.
Maybe it came in last night for slugs
or to avoid steady September sun
or has slept here since our early frost.
It hardly moves all week. After a night
rain, it’s partly hidden in the open yard
one-third wedged under softened sod.
It tries two spots nearby. This morning
it waddles across the lawn to the curb;
hesitates; turns; stops half-way back.
Now, nothing in the grass or on the street
or under chives. Nothing stirs except
a hawk hunched low in a hillside tree.
Recent poems by Raymond Byrnes have been accepted/published in numerous print and on-line journals, including Main Street Rag, Third Wednesday, Rat’s Ass Review, and Better Than Starbucks and have been featured as Editor’s Choice in five publications. For many years, he managed communications for the U.S. Geological Survey’s National Land Imaging Program. He lives in Virginia.