THE COMMON THREAD

the sound  of

children running

is like a string

of branches

being brushed

by winds

 

excited voices

and the breeze of

feet over the sand

discover

each shell a

treasure

each stone

a beginning  

of remembering

even years later,

when the shell

and stone

on a desk

or window sill

pulls at

the pause within

where reason

holds the  

order of

disorder,

 

the common

thread

unchanged