Bagatelle

Chipped green,
turquoise, amber
tumbled smooth—

those bits we found
like careless kindnesses
flung, refusing requiem

of swell and surf—
And I cannot part
with strips of drift-

wood tucked into shelves
and drawers, cannot quite
give up the habit

of probing whorled
things for what they hide
of salt or seed—

 

In response to Via Negativa: Interiority complex and small stone (206).

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