Round – November 26, 2007
The moon is in the morning sky.
Though a few days past full,
it still shines round and white,
rippled with veins of blue.
I am exuberant
with the coming days
the entry into winter trees,
who’ve dropped their leaves,
bark ablaze with fairy fingers,
knitting in the light.
A sand dollar rests on my desk.
I brought it from the sea, needing
the star held in a circle,
the palm.
It drops sand on my desk.
There is a little hole,
a place holding home,
sand that turns,
percolating the place
we all reside
even as we die
to change
our form.
Round and round
we go. The phases of the moon
an hourglass
we hold.
