Saturday, April 26, 2014

Re-collection


The ocean collects
the mountain slopes
and hides them beneath the waves.

All the mighty peaks trickle down the valleys,
unaware of the request to kneel.
The Judas-kiss of rain’s soft tongue,
delivers what gravity so badly wants
with its unrelenting pull.

Tiny sprouted seeds become the mighty trees,
risen higher and grander and stronger.
They remember the finite days of passing kings and ships,
their gazes fixed upwards to the clouds.
When is their return to earth, for the ground’s last long embrace?

A faint and tiny beak pushes from within a shell
can but scarcely fathom the world
to unfold beyond the breach
first to think of what it is
and then of what to be.

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