The Story
by Bob Moore

When you arrive before the rocks and sea,
the morning speaks in words that have no price,
the leveling of sand, the cold degree
of air, the water in all states, the ice
on boulders older than the brine, the sound
of something offering its story as
its story is unfolding, always bound
to end where it began. Its story has
a purpose to be writing, etching art
with a voice that speaks to something bound in you,
a story driven to crack a stone in two,
and this is why the story has a heart.



 

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