Psyches worn like pearls on skin
Sliding off and on and in
Poised upon the precipice,
Ready to begin.
Pearl and psyche, fact and metaphor
Dull so quickly alone again, or
Damned to furtive singleton
Turning on the curb to run
Hopping homeless hoping for
Stars in my pockets, grains of sand
Thrown like pearls from where I stand
Standing on a frozen pier
Chilly at the close of years
Stagger, scatter, turn to land.
Beneath the ocean, on the floor
Collect in corners like the dust
Lint and pollen
Eyes will redden
And oysters gather scars of trust.
Injured in their hidden places
Fingerless in craftsmanship
in the darkness
Layering forgotten, grew.
Grew until the divers pried
Counselled better after cried
Opened up that jagged shell
Discarded all the meat as well
All focus on the pearl.
Original content on this page © Alan P. Scott. All rights reserved.