Combing for Glass

Combing for Glass

A school of fish,
flashing as they leap
in the rays of the morning sun
cresting the lake’s horizon.

Waves crashing on the shore,
and Toronto, thirty miles distant,
seeming to rise from the water
into a sky black and brooding at midday.

Sails in silhouette at sunset.
Waves washing sand and gravel
through my fingers,
the sun’s last rays glinting
in minute traces.

Another life.  Another time.  Transition.
Hours, days spent on a rocky shore,
combing for glass once broken,
now weathered by storms and waves,
like my thoughts, filtered now, as well.

At day’s end,
a handful of beach glass,
a handful of words.
Poetry running through my fingers,
and through my mind.



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