o cea, o cea

There are oceans on either side of us

with stones so smooth. They’re older than you

Truer than You or I. They speak only their surface

in my hand and it’s all I need to hear.

The finless sea turtles are exposed as the tide goes out-

Fine with staying in the sun or rolling back with the receding sea foam.

I collect a few and ask them a question.

Where will you go when I throw you? Back

out there, beyond my imagined horizon,

catapulting me to stand in a new way-

Like after shooting a rifle, without the startling blast.

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Filed under Poetry, Prose, Rambling

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