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Hurrocks |
The waves slide among the rocks,
seek their highest point, then recede,
only to come back again.
The waves are talking, speaking,
prayers for all I know
or bragging about a few
molecules of a rounded stone
that their retreat removed.
Annie sleeps next to me,
a twitch, a shiver,
lost in dream, found in dream,
murmuring. She is
hard at work on some issue
she chose not to speak.
My hand's touch
penetrates her shoulder,
somewhere inside her
it comes to that point,
that trigger, and all
her tense muscles relax;
she recedes from that shore
in a long breath gone,
grains of an answer carried
out into her world.
copyright 2004
Kenneth
Gurney |
