Terracotta

A shell spirals in time
mathematically asymmetric
atop the flat
building without rent

An opening to the doorway
of eons of waves
washing the laundry
of eternity – she passes without a blush

forms of clay with no destined shape
forms a way with movement heavenly
Your eyes gaze at what can be true
If you let it

What becomes hard in the end
Starts soft and nimble
cool mud runs through your fingers
of water pure symbol

championing change charges chores
of angles worth the perceiving
before bands begin bemoaning
what forms your thoughts in the morning?

how does the sea shell its form when
we are still waking
from the drive on the highway
a vacation away from ourselves into

forms of porous clay
allowing air and water
to settle into armies of terracotta
sailors on dry land

can we find our still nature
asymmetry laughing for nothing
crashing against the feeling of

letting it all
wash
over

The trumpet of Triton
inside the shell
of endless seas
cries out in soft whispers

Isn't it any wonder to hear?