On my daily walk along the shore
where the waves feather the strand,
humid air hints of thunderstorms
and swallows practice departure,
I find a lucky stone.
A pebble really, smooth
from countless tides,
deep green in overcast light,
oval, coined size.
How easy it disappears
in my wallet’s hidden sleeve,
and one day, my restless fingers
will recover the pebble,
lucky once again.
Tim Dwyer’s chapbook is Smithy Of Our Longings (Lapwing Publications). He will have poems in the upcoming issue of Cyphers, and in the Irish Poetry Chair Commemorative Anthology. He has recently moved from the U.S. to Bangor, County Down.