web of secrets
between pink mounds
love’s cavernous criss cross
life in the lines
beginnings endings
on the lip of every precipice
outward signs
tell a story
we cannot trace
all the way back
to baby hands
that reached for a face
this river after storm
takes what we cherish
forward
seaward
our hands scarred
from digging
once read now read
shapes in mud
hoist them above the surface
or leave them where they land
there is little doubt
the future will find them
Early Morning Poems 