All Beinglaps like water
against the shores of silence.
I carve the word
upon my heart
and seek it there,
burrowing down in,
finding warmth and grace
in the chill damp darkness.
Story comes along,
digging and poking with its sharp bill,
looking for some meat to feed upon
but I am safe in my striated shell
-- though when it passes,
I spit my salty fountain
at its feet.
Are these tears?
Or just a particularly forceful eruption
from this continual overflow
of Love?
* * *
1 comment:
What a beautiful poem. It draws me into my heart, into that place where I too crave the word and carve silence into my inner being.
Thank you!
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