Each grain of sand is a word.

You lie belly flat, sift imagined sentences

through your sticky fingers

to the bottom of the sandbox.

In a dream, you stumble,

a stranger in the dictionary

of bottomless promises.

You walk on words,

crush them into an alphabet,

unreadable in the midday sun.

   C.J. Prince

   Copyright 2013


This is the third poem that slid out of Bellingham to find another poet.  It is a snippet from a longer poem that had been cut into pieces for re-arrangement and arrived all by itself, a serendipitous accident.  It just fit the postcard.


About cjprinceauthor

I write. I read. I write and read...I listen to raindrops on begonias, talk to ravens, dance with dragons. I practice Tai Chi in a barn, I sleep with earth stones and tarot cards. I celebrate each day. Join me!
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