Written by Chad Norman
for Halyna Kruk, Ukrainian poet
Someone’s uninjured hand
has not placed it there,
the lonely stone
with a white vein
across its sea-strewn face.
White horizon far from
the one I stand to ponder
here on a stuttering beach,
the distant currents of my mind
no other will ever use
has built this sand-sculpted pew.
Pondering then, and still pondering
about the rapid disappearance
of supposed todays I swear
really did happen, additional
odd tides of brief hilarity.
Text © Chad Norman
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