Spirit Stone

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Walking along the beach
at night,
the moon pulls the water in,
waves crashing
on my feet.

I see something black
sitting
in the receding water.
I pick it up.

The moonshine reveals
a face, carved in a triangular stone,
perhaps one of a cat
or devil
or deity.

It could have come from
Egypt,
Hawaii,
Mycenae.

All I know is
it came to me;
all it knows is
a passage by waves.

Humans are so blind;
we can’t notice
the miracles
that happen every day.
We think
they come once

every blue moon.





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