Black Seas,
shadow
stories.
Ancient strains
seized by
waves,
salt cured
in healing water.
The sand, they say
is curative,
tends the ache
of bones.
Bones that
leave their
marrow in
the earth.
Bones that
bend past
breaking, stooping
to seize
what was scattered
to the earth.
The beach is strewn
with debris,
discards from revelries
imbibed to forget
the ache,
of the boneless heart.
There are no
orphans here,
all are oplaket,
family.
Like the binding
rope that seals the newlyweds,
the teary brine
of ever brown eyes.
binds in union,
moored before God.
Little leave-takings
from one mothers
womb
to another.
How do we breath?
When the sea takes our breath?
Yet it’s pulse.
reminds hearts
to beat,
again.
Again, the wave
greets the shore.
Again the mother fluid
rocks the unsettled souls,
enticing home
those who were lost.
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