Stones to Sea Foam

Do you pity the waves reaching
toward the clouds, once a part of themselves,
as how a gem may envy the blossom
that breaks in the wind and drinks daily wine
from a pond or creek, river or sea–

the shimmer of water recalling fossils,
summer, or something
even brighter, warmer
than the sea foam you long
to be–countless oval pearls
cracked open to whispers?

How can you pity the waves,
above with the stars, beloved
in both vast dark and open blue,
returning sails and cliff-side solitude?
How can you waltz across the sea,
dressed in lilies and ivory?


Reading Vera Pavlova’s “To converse with the greats” poem has led me to realize that you don’t understand a person until you’ve walked a mile in his or her shoes. In a similar manner, the same is with literature; you don’t know what it means until you’ve experienced what the author talks about.


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