I say I have been stumbledspun
And caught my feet anew
But truly still I tumble-run
Half falling through the blue
But is that not the way it goes
When time moves on to what it knows
And days cascade their way to night
Where we all fall through feardelight
And morning comes relentlessly
With ardour from the way we spin
And all is still or so it seems
Before it starts to endbegin
Nov 17, 2025
Nov 17, 2025 at 8:25 AM UTC
I.
Waves crash into roiling warmth
Foam settles, slows, then stops—
a moment’s pause,
the bottom of the ocean’s breath,
waiting for the pull back to sea.
Receding, a grief:
friction twixt the sand and water,
the wave inclining to gravity,
sinking through the grains.
Each touch a bond—
temporary, fleeting—
lost to the reliquary,
in every wave retold.
II.
So grief lays down
its film of salt—
to remind the sand
of what was and soon will be.
Each crest a vow
that cannot last,
each fall a promise
to begin again.
Sep 7, 2025
Sep 7, 2025 at 12:17 PM UTC