Monday, May 30, 2011

...And then I'll make a vase...

Wash over the shards of this day
like salt water rolls sharply broken glass
around in it's waves
to deposit on a shore

somewhere I've never been,
somewhere I'd like to go.
Blow across the scar of this day-
the whisper
of a breeze not without a secret promise
that all of this tossing will land us,

Someday I will be walking along a shore,
the sea will be calm
and at my feet all around,

thick chucks of smoothed glass
that sparkle in the sun
and do not cut my fingers

when I pick them up,
that look like the long forgotten colorful gems

of all of my crystallized tears,
and I will remember,

(Oh how I will remember!)

yes I will remember
where I came from.
( I came from here.)

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