A Quaint Souvenir

The sea star

of a brandish scene,

lays exclusive amongst neighbors.

Broken glass and sand.

Four and a half limbs it has.

Now four rather,

as a bitty boy

lifts it lackadaisical.

The sea star is tainted

with the ocean’s salts

and sways with whispers

of the tide’s secrets.

Fragile and light,

the star holds eloquence

and has formed a name for itself

along the seaweed beds.

Once enriched in color,

touched by clear waters,

and now washed up,

left to bake in the oven of our atmosphere.

Yet the skeleton remains

with glamour

with history

with texture

and with divine

in the bitty boy’s pocket.

 

Sierra Dawn

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