Catchers in the Tide

Life happens inside me
As it does inside you
instead of pearl oysters
we are chasing together
the echoes
of startled silhouettes
evicted from memory.
Not all birds fly south
in winter
Not all men tiptoe
in the presence of God.
My fingertips breathe,
A soft stillness
marries the humility
of my prayers
as I kneel down
on the white silk
to succumb to your visions.
Let’s bide here,
I’ll tell you as much or as little
You are my south and my prayers
The spirited pathway
leading my footsteps
to a golden shield.

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