June 25, 2014
Even the roadway signs point towards the way from which I came,
and with windows open, the winds blow hard against my face.
Withered, static branches look to bend to the desperate world behind me.
Only fresh green grasses point away from the debris.
Taking their lead,
I begin to release, only the pain, that did precede.
Pushing pedals, I move closer toward the sound,
black rivers, marshes, to where wide stretches of sand surround.
Humble grains of what were prior shells are as vivid thoughts,
particular moments of love and hurt.
As I move to deeper water, their size increases, takes a turn.
Tiny shards are no longer as overt.
Curved lines, soft colors, angles intricate and deep,
a full shell, perfect in all detail,
once a home for one unseen
is now a gift of my life drifting, handed back to me.