on you
I rest like a tiny shell
on the tip of a sandy, wet fingertip
at the beach.....
it is a fearful thing, my dearest heart.
this power you have over me
is like breath
that can blow that shell
away and
make me a castaway forever in the surf
which softly curls up over our feet.
I resent and crave that breath--
the tension of knowing
how one careless moment
could destroy me
and make me only one tiny
sea jewel among the shifting grains
in salty, cleansing, blue-green seas
and there is no way to know
whether this is good or bad.....
am I meant to be one among many
in your bucket of treasures
or am I different and wonderful and miraculous?
tell me....
do not make me guess...
my position on your fingertip is too perilous.
and I could be lost forever
in a sigh
to
myself
and
to
you.