October 2010

by Jane Whittle
this is the first stone
I watched the sunset alter
forty years ago
a smooth stone
breathing in the wind
between two waves
a white stone
in the palm of my hand
growing younger
black pebble
how long did it take
to break you down ?
from each tiny stone
shadows stripe the sand
the long wind blows

so many voices
echo in the room
outside an east wind sighs
under every wave
the shape of the shade
too quick to remember
we gather again
under this great sky
racing past us
silence for breakfast
the awkwardness of elbows


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