in evening's cool
on rocky shore
the moon is rising from the sea
the boys
they grunt and groan and heave
the bones of mother earth
inchoate goal
it seems to be
farthest out into the sound
but she
on edge of knotted mob
appears to count the stones
she sorts and weighs
with measured gaze
each of her candidates
until the one
so flat and round
so smoothly fit
into her hand
she strides
into that knotted mob
and with a practiced
underhand
silence
save the whiz and skip
as earth flies to the moon
© 2016 Frederick Andrew ~ All Rights Reserved
Inspired by the work of Katherine Johnson
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