Dear crackled, fragile shell,

sepia is the new white;

patches of the summer garden
rehearsing their going-under,

sachets of tea ambering
in mason jars on the sill—

Patience sits and steeps,
embryo in an overlay of oil:

thick sludge of brine marbling
its ivory face, perfecting

the beautiful, golden heart
that was always there.

 

In response to Via Negativa: Hope and Doubt.

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