Palettal Prose: Scribe of Sands

Sand, stones, salt, shells.                   What we each do,

Where I belong, in the dunes           according to call,

rearranging the world,                       husked of ambition,

carrying the elements                        to bring life

here and there,                                    back into balance.

listening for the music                       How we each pull

of relationship.                                    on the sheet of horizon,

Where else should I be,                     to remake the bed-rock,

but asking questions with fingers   to right the rock bed,

thrust into diatoms of silica?            that it may offer carbon

An infinity                                             to the trees,

of pulverized bodies                            that they may offer oxygen

speaks to my nerves                            to the birds. Tonight,

glistening millenial light.                   with paw-prints

I am a scribe of sands                         in these same

these hands                                           deep hills of sand,

related by tribe, by species                in the deepest spaces

to those that painted a pride            of night,

of lions on cave walls                          stalking these same dreams.

at Chauvet, 35,000 years past.

~Bonnie Morrissey, We’Moon


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