Saturday, June 15, 2013


Imprint a pattern
on sand, just above
the line where waves
weave blank — and
I think of a  you
and others melded —
a pattern — of words
and opinions — events —
words woven into
a cloak against the dark
and the cold — stories
about — how wave
and rock are balanced
on a sentence neither
of us remember —
and yet the whole
universe depends upon
our interpretations.

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