Long ago,
\nbefore the first storm,
\nbefore hands shaped pottery.
\nBefore puddles
\nbecame sea,
\nand flowers
\nlay like unshaped treasure
\nin the ground.
\nBefore anyone
\nwove a cloth of cotton
\nmade of summer,
\nor served milk from shells.<\/p>\n
I stirred in the wine juice
\nof the tide,
\nfermented in the kelp garden
\njust off shore,
\nlooked for strangers
\non the sand.
\nAnd asked among starfish and clams,
\nwhen will my time come?
\nWhen will I see
\nthe sky explode,
\nthe dawn,
\ncome like an angel
\nfrom the waves?<\/p>\n
And it unfolded as it was.
\nThe page of a nightingale opened.
\nGeraniums bloomed.
\nA woman\u2019s voice called me to supper.
\nAnd as I went in I asked,
\nwhen is my time done?
\nAnd two lips kissed my heart
\nwith an answer.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Long ago, before the first storm, before hands shaped pottery. Before puddles became sea, and flowers lay like unshaped treasure in the ground. Before anyone…<\/p>\n