The Complaint

White pebble
in my hand

you are fiercely
impenetrable

will it always be
a matter of surface
with you and me—

I am learning
to live with you

but your language
is beyond me

beyond my thinking’s
noisy machinery

beyond memory’s frontier
off imagination's edge—

I have been promised
another white stone

bearing a new name
known only to me

will it too
be impenetrable

I am beginning
to live with you

I am beginning
to see

J. Janda