December 14th, 2010
My ear is filled
With splashes of swimmers and floppers
For freight of sounds
They leave air and food.
A shell is struggled open
By rock and apatite
Deep in the mangroves.
Here I am
Myself where before
Out there I was less.
The moon mirrors more than sunlight
As I want to hang myself
To
The cone—like of a Pine—
Of worry and question
Falls from my hand to white
Flecks of once living lime
Among today’s cold sandy soil,
Orange in the sunset,
That will bring life
And a light that will show them
For what they are
Revealing more than the trash around it.
I lift a bottle high
Having left the land itself
Accepting what it gives
I stay until night passes
For a bolder cone to bear and
For a new sun to see.
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