Valence of rock,
fine slipper of sand…
the ocean has retreated.
Long strophes of silence
sheen the moist air;
here, the small fingers
of failings and reprisals
loosen,
and one can go on into evening
touching the rough bodies of salt
and watching the light
redefine the shore.
How often does it come to this:
living to wait
until pain climbs out
like a heavenly body
then dissolves…
and it is again possible
to return to the shells and the stones,
to lean outward in the wake
of the storm, to discover
what the tide has salvaged.
— Anne Coray
From Bone Strings