ROCKS IN THE MAIL

I mail apologies

to places I’ve been

where I was

a bad-mannered tourist 

or a thief 

in sheep’s clothing. 

Rocks are what I send.

They are my emissaries

because they know more 

than I ever will

and their silence is 

genuinely convincing.

But really it’s their sentience

I am sending. 

They have a presence

I could never muster.

My dentist will tell you: 

this guy is just 

one big cavity 

waiting to happened.