STOP THE CLOCK
Sea shells, the exo-skeletons of pulsing flesh,
What is this fascination that they hold for us?
We search for them like treasures on the beach.
They must fulfill some kind of inner need.
I have a vase of dried flowers and reeds
That I have kept in view for many years.
The purple hyacinths that now perfume my doorway
Will droop and fade within a dozen days.
Oh let me net the butterfly of time,
Sculpture your marble presence in my mind,
Inscribe the notes of every bluebird’s song,
And keep you with me after you are gone.
(April 2014)
Leave a Reply