Identity Poem

The pebble is a work of

No originality,

Although the more defensive

Interrupt, God’s handiwork!,

In an urgent voice. That’s fair,

But then it’s all equally

Original, God’s cosmos,

Isn’t it, even these words?

We’d like that, but it does seem

Like there are some things you can’t

Find almost anywhere else,

Nearly unique chunks of things,

Or unique pending further

Investigation, and we

And this pebble you picked up

Are not among them. Funny,

That you can think of a class,

A set of the unique things,

Which implies that uniqueness

Is their common quality,

Common as quartz stoniness

Or as disability.