Wednesday, April 14, 2010


The Glass Island

I would like us to climb into the shell and ride
the waves to where they sleep.

There we would press our fistfuls of sand
into panes and build a clear house

with ocean floor, sky ceiling. This
would save us for a few years.

But I know that as we drift in dreams,
the sand would remember the earth,

crumble from the walls, fill our eyes.
We would wake crying.

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