Pocket Weight

There is a faded circle on my thigh

where the denim has started to thin.

A ghost of a shape that stayed with me,

pressing right into the skin.

I pulled the river stone out today,

it’s smooth as a piece of glass.

Except for the chip where I dropped it once

on the sidewalk’s yellowing grass.

My thumb keeps reaching for the hollow space

in the dark of my empty coat.

It’s strange how a rock can become the thing

that keeps a whole body afloat.