on this shore i am in constant fear
of committing some piece of rudeness,
through my inability to look at things
from the same stand-point as my neighbors.

and that's just the beginning of my problems.

since the seashells i choose are blotched
and broken, opaque with algae's slime
and underfoot until i unearth them
and present them to the sun,

they stay inert until man-moved.

as i collect the shells, i muse
on yesterday's now-gone moments
so dear to my whole being, yet
most are still clad in questions,

that have no answer.

10/13/2005