Ancient

I search, but don’t see them;
the deep treasures. They push and pull
like the tide.
Dark irises
contracting while watching me.
Immemorial stones, pearls
cast out of conscience,
shy. They wash over me,
like fierce winds,
piercing.
Roots grow from their trenches,
lagoons beached to a
rainbow quartz.
Primordial lights meet at the center,
dilate,
forming a mirror.
Our faces find our faces.

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