Sunday, August 22, 2010

Left with nothing
I did,

Against the crashing edge of the world.

What is there that is not against my skin
Or in my eyes that I need?

The wind is confirmation
For the way of things:

Be nothing
That can’t be blown away.

The sand is strewn
With what was once wanted.

The gull
Is graceful scavenger,

The beach ours,
Together walking, bearing nothing.

She is hungry,
I am weightless,

On the edge of things,
            Collecting stones.

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