Control’s an Illusion

I negotiate the moment:

the shape of a shell;

the color of a shoe;

the proper knot for a noose;

what was said when,

and to whom. As if time

whispers the secrets

it finds in tide pools:

what belongs

scuttling in the rocks, 

and what has washed in

with the last full moon.

(May 24, 2020)

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