Red Rock (Poetry)

Improbable, bizarre, it seems pure fluke —
mere whimsy carved as Nature’s clumsy joke —
this giant, misshapen marble caught mid-roll
and apprehended on the very point
of teetering, its surface weather-pocked
and patchy with rough continents rubbed raw,
eroded like some battered, freeze-dried world.

A red-gold planet fallen, plucked from flight —
an orbit looped around a foreign sun —
ejected from those heavens like a pip
too awkward to be swallowed and spat out —
sent plummeting to earth — sown like a seed
pregnant with one purpose and intent,
but still unready, breathless with suspense.

It doesn’t look like it would take too much
to tip the balance, send it on its way —
it maybe only needs a casual nudge —
an almost accidental knock or shove
to move this rusting pinball of the gods,
have it hurtle onwards, ricochet
off ancient walls — release it back in play.