the sand dollar I have found,
are marked with little holes
in your nature,
powdered and breakable.
I feel your beauty
as I trace the patterns of your face,
and hold you from the salty grip of beachcombers.
You have been picked up many times
but never kept.
There is a void in your center,
where you carry the memory of your source,
where you vaguely remember the water
running through your body.
You wait for me to drop you where I found you
I smooth away the gritty sediment
and see the strength in you
who have emerged from the ocean
and carry the journey on your face.
—Annabelle Moseley, Lloyd Harbor, NY