Poverty is not a shame, but the being ashamed of it is

Reaching down arm-deep into bright water I gathered on white sand under waves

Shells, drifted up on beaches where I alone

Inhabit a finite world of years and days.

I reached my arm down a myriad years

To gather treasure from the yester-milliennial sea-floor,

Held in my fingers forms shaped on the day of creation.

Building their beauty in three dimensions

Over which the world recedes away from us,

And in the fourth, that takes away ourselves

From moment to moment and from year to year

From first to last they remain in their continuous present.

The helix revolves like a timeless thought,

Instantaneous from apex to rim Like a dance whose figure is limpet or murex, cowrie or golden winkle.

They sleep on the ocean floor like humming-tops Whose music is the mother-of-pearl octave of the rainbow,

Harmonious shells that whisper forever in our ears, The world that you inhabit has not yet been created.


Life is like a bunch of roses. Some sparkle like raindrops. Some fade when there's no sun. Some just fade away in time. Some dance in many colors. Some drop with hanging wings. Some make you fall in love. The beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Life you can be sure of, you will not get out ALIVE.(sorry about that)

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