Monday, October 3, 2022




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.


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