By | 15 September 2022

Hard to believe
a thread could catch

and hold them still
against my skin.

Seed-pearl, turquoise
or bud of native flower?

Glass, its glitter and blade
whittled by sea.

A tiny bi-valve
stubby as stone.

A black pebble
resolved as shadow.

An oblong
cut from a long walk

on a cloudy morning—
strands of wind gust of hair.

fine as a wren

a threnody for water
a threnody for air.

This entry was posted in 106: OPEN and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Related work:

Comments are closed.