Saturday, April 9, 2011

Smelling Rocks On A Turtle Shore

They smell like a steam, stale
and smoky; hardly wet at all because the feel in
my nostrils
fills more like smoke. This one has a face.
This one has a face!

It's a smiling curvature of squinting eyes.
Mine ran,
and I threw the facerock onto the opposite shore—
A piece of my heart splitsunk and flew with but I never knew why.

It was a turtle, I figured a few years later—The Turtle
that taught me to smile when I am cracked.

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