Tideglass
She walks where the sea
leaves its broken things,
soft glass
and sorrow in tangled strings.
A letter floats in a rock pool’s sleep.
Its ink runs cold,
its silence deep.
“My heart’s no sum that sense can hold,
but it forecasts storms, and it’s turning cold.”
She reads,
then folds it like a prayer,
and leaves it cradled
gently there.
Written for Keep It Alive: What Do you See. Featured image credit; Pan Xiaozhen @ Unsplash although I’ve resized to 16:9 and did some in-painting to fill.
It's Still Life 
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