My pew, white femur
of a beached tree,
faces waves.
They fold in and out,
steady as respiration,
imperturbable.
Sun, low over
my left shoulder
on this winter afternoon,
skims grasses and dunes
with a vague warmth,
pink and fawn.
I am small
on a long strip of sand.
I am wombed
in lake’s heartbeat, lulled
by sun’s mother-voice.
of a beached tree,
faces waves.
They fold in and out,
steady as respiration,
imperturbable.
Sun, low over
my left shoulder
on this winter afternoon,
skims grasses and dunes
with a vague warmth,
pink and fawn.
I am small
on a long strip of sand.
I am wombed
in lake’s heartbeat, lulled
by sun’s mother-voice.
Superlative. One of your absolute best. Practically a prayer, in the best sense of the word.
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