AMALGAM

 

 

I found a small rock

gleaming, with its sparkle of mica

and grains of sand in shadowed 

crevices at low tide, an amalgam 

from the once alive, 

so light it might have flown,

 

a brain aloft in a seabird’s skull,

or wingless it flew, a meteorite shorn 

from a distant place, and plunged

as cormorant into the cove’s gray water, 

a bird searching for a fish

to bring glittering to the surface,

 

its cosmic weight its own, 

fed before it was found, this 

rock a remnant, little moon 

of our solar system, 

I turn in my damp hand

in dry daylight.

 

James Brasfield is the author of Infinite AltarsLedger of Crossroads, and Cove, forthcoming in Spring 2023, from Louisiana State University Press. He lives in Belfast, Maine.

ISSN 2632-4423

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