Sunday, August 30, 2009

Miracles (after Whitman)

Perhaps a miracle is the story of a single seashell, outer skeleton composed of crystals squeezed from blood knit in tight rows to form a single dark line of amazing strength that spirals back to the very moment it was born.

Or maybe a miracle is the mourning dove bathing under the lawn sprinkler’s spray this hot summer’s day as the hot air balloon of my daydreaming carries me across a constellation of shining flight that washes me in to shore and out to sea countless times in a single flicker of thought.

1 comment:

  1. Love the umbilical image...nadir and light. looking forward to this week's poetry, and more (Friday too! how rich are we!)