It lies entwined with the gull’s wing in pink seastring among polished shellflakes where the dog inspects the ocean’s rip and the children tag along. It sits beside you with the waves’ murmur as ever-renewing current speaks of voices long ago which said, Here shall you go; no further. And it hums in the morningContinue reading “Being There”
Tag Archives: Being
Sonnet
Do not mistake the fold for where we live: It overlaps the outside and the in, Suturing together, and it binds What otherwise would float and duck and dive In nexus-waves of incompleteness. Yes: It’s true that we are nothing if our minds Are not caught up in Being’s dance. The less We live toContinue reading “Sonnet”
The Consolations of Writing 