At the Sound of Orient
underneath an Osprey nest  
walked a seeker in rounded stones  
looking for shattered glass  
polished smooth by waves  
rolled over and over  
into colored medallions  
she kept  
in a Mason jar  
at a window  
in the  
Sun. 
Isn’t it amazing  
how water surf scuffs  
a scalpel edge down  
blunts rawness from stinging  
transforms toss aways  
into keepsakes rare  
most might  
just trod a 
Cross? 
Ocean  
her life’s line  
her seafarer folk  
her own fisher man.  
Such young d(E)light  
caught in a faded  
pho(two)graph  
2 kids 
at Jones Beach  
gazing into each.
And even then she knew  
she would be  
clever enough  
to find beauty  
in a world  
that can be  
so very  
Sharp.