Sunday, January 18, 2015

Two diatoms

Sand stretches like the white belly of a waking cat
We are wrapped warmly, arm in arm, 
paper cranes sitting on the rising sun

The wind bears us, a seed in a white dove's beak
Island to island, to christen every breach of sun and sea
And celebrate every surrender to the gravity of night

In the inky ocean outside a plane's oval eyes
We might merely be two little diatoms
In the vast blue planktonic dance

But when we move together
the ocean bends and stars light our path
to our next adventure. . .arm in arm

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