The Shoreline Stone
A crinkled shore on the Upper Peninsula.
We are hunting Golden Eagles.
You find a small stone.
On the surface, a crimp and cockle
of wind and waves
has rucked an impression
of an eagle in flight.
“It's only ripple art, not even
a good depiction,
just water-wear. “
I say.
You throw it back into Lake Huron,
won’t hold my hand,
won’t even look at me,
until I admit the possibility
of divine crinkles.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2019
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