Early
The shells are on,
we are billowing.
The white inside
curves under the sky.
We're in a gray
and whitened day
horizontal to the air.
It reminds me of a little while
that's almost nothing.
It's not like anything;
the white in the branches
is near and low. Abalone rainbow;
life billows out
tomorrow, a swirling heart
invisible again.
Night,
what you look like,
blue iridescent
mother of pearl;
morning sun between the pines'
black lines; an atom in a shadow; a lake through the trees.
Rings on the water open
how I hear.
___________________
Star Lake
Arda Collins
The Song Cave, 2022
