Monday, November 9, 2009

Stone Spirit

I walk the beach,
and spirit lurks
in every stone,
her feather poised
as if a quill
born to inscribe
her presence;
to carve her words
of love and loss,
of fundamental inevitabilities,
across the graves
littering the landscape
like shells and seaweed,
those days when what is not
or never was, or is no more
is all I seem to see;
the scrape of what's been torn away
is all I seem to feel
and She Who Loves
lies here, entombed
beneath my stumbling feet.

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