The miry clay scraped aside
my hands, caked thick with muck,
I stare into my palm
at the nugget I’ve unearthed.
The water pours reluctantly
a canteen cascade of glugs and gasps
is it just another stone?
a jolt of rusty hope
rattles in my chest.
the ragged dream
fills the corners of these old eyes
and spills down a familiar crease in my face.
It’s iron pyrite, by gum.
Blast it all!
~Robert JV Christensen
How to Write like an Octopus 