I write you

this message

from atop a towel

having found some

small measure of

peace as

the prayer plays

and clouds become

angel wings

stretching from

the horizon to

my lonely shore

where yesterday

an ancient shipwreck

was washed up

by playful waves,

petrified wood

from ages long past

ready to be

poured over,


put in its right place

among the debris

of our history,

ready to right

the story of

selfish dust

kept on a shelf

for too long

ready to burst

its watery bubble

and beach itself

before golden gods

guarding their secret

ready to stop time

to gather nothing

within its grasp and -

decaying -

spray its story,

wind whisperer

of rainbows

wrought from

broken water

forever flowing:

come forth!

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