Here I lie at the bottom, sandy and forgotten
a series of shiny beach pebbles and shells
found on darkened beaches that poets roam
and lonely mistresses comb for lost dreams,
remedies to their ills, and companions

Sitting beside the shards of precious stones you left,
the dry tongues that speak no more - once promised
to speak a language together but alone
while reading tales of hidden civilizations as our own
is born

Paper clips block the light as sun streams through shade
and you stir to conquer more sky and heart today,
your movement stirring the feathers here plucked
from the earth to remind us how we still fly, or
woven in our hair to carry us aloft, borne on light

These words are not the first that spilled
the tale of forfeit and fancy
but here they stay to star and sound the life
that can no longer flow forth
and vines will grow to cover
and rest always