Tuesday, November 24, 2015

Avalokitesvara on the Shore

The skipping pebbles said to me.
Onward now.
and back.
We have been washed and worn.
by tides
by the waves.

The color of toothpaste, I said.

What? (as gray clouds
from central mountain peaks
weighed down)

The waves,
they were the color of blue frothy toothpaste,
there was no sand.

And the sky,
the same,

it reflected the stones.

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