I rest like a tiny shell
on the tip of a sandy, wet fingertip
at the beach…..
it is a fearful thing, my dearest heart.
this power you have over me
is like breath
that can blow that shell
away and
make me a castaway forever in the surf
which softly curls up over our feet.
I resent and crave that breath–
the tension of knowing
how one careless moment
could destroy me
and make me only one tiny
sea jewel among the shifting grains
in salty, cleansing, blue-green seas
and there is no way to know
whether this is good or bad…..
am I meant to be one among many
in your bucket of treasures
or am I different and wonderful and miraculous?
tell me….
do not make me guess…
my position on your fingertip is too perilous.
and I could be lost forever
in a sigh
to
myself
and
to
you.
