rocks and pearls

Forms of old lovers,

their faces and capsules of their presence

flowing through the rooms of my drowsing conscious —

I greet each one silently with my heart,

A grain of regret washed with my tears forms each one’s pearl,

clutched like wild, exotic nuts in my nostalgic grasp;

Except, in that calm, pre-waking state,

I breathe …

the reflexive tautness about my heart

loosens a little,

allowing waters from the pristine caves of eventuality

to seep in at the edges,

and the shaman, Wisdom,

to smooth the broken rocks

of desire


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