seashells

seashells
 
ears: bowls that fill without your hands, that left right mirror, generous.
 
sand: reasonable between your toes, don’t question obvious.
 
ribbons: scribbled in rock, gravel, dirt, feet, then too there’s wind making curls.
 
sapphire: mother’s color between fingertip thoughts, nearly sparks,
(ruby: the passion idea left behind while running from the flood).
 
starfish: when he got just rewards, bending over to steal stars from the sea. patience does.
 
Eugene: she was almost there, clueless from either lighted door.
 
rain: her waterfall hair, an island culling blues, yet I still said no. pigments dry.
 
the road: the ribbon the sea the sand, the crusade. a banner lurches to steady itself, touches earth.
 
memory: how I story myself.
 
 
 
neil reid © 2014 march