Treasure Island

manny moreno


The Scribe


White sage smolders
in red abalone shell
and the fragrant smoke
bows to the ONE.

Outside in a mild breeze
I lounge before the sun, my eyes
ride a hummingbird
zooming in wild abandon.

I should be writing
stories in my mind
begging to be told,
but this tiny creature
has me captive on its wings.

Who will know I was here
and this was taking place,
for shadows on the ground
have neither tongues nor eyes.

Submitted: Sunday, March 17, 2013

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