seashells

A feat, this heart’s control
Moment to moment
To scale all love down
To a cupped hand’s size
—from “Bonsai,” Edith L. Tiempo


All this time
Here is a pulse,
As faint as a pin,
Beating, and then gone.
Now this is what I fear:
I have no new words for love.

But I have other things to say,
Ocean wide, mineral bright,
And I need an anchor
To keep them where
They ought to be:
A chair, a small corner,
A dog-ear of a journal,
A hill house, or you.

If this is not enough,
I will comb the shores
For a conch, the poet
Of seashells, and keep it,
Listen to its ageless whisper.

Seldom do we get
A promise of a rosy future
From such smooth lips,
Something out of a treasure
We could hold and cradle
In the arms like a child.