The Clams Knew

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Mayor of Donutville

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I was born so long ago, the ancient scrolls were still "the scrolls"
The earth's fair face untouched, unkempt, unshorn
I was lost in far and near, a hand dug hole for each new year
One silent wave silently sheds a tear

Between the doubt, the tide has gone out
Absent moonlight

Return to dirt
Return to stone
The things we made
Remain undone

Oxblood leather volume bound, the choir of gravity's grave sound
Sunlight to shine, concealed, once missing, found
Rows on rows of empty faces, hands on shoulders linking lace is
Woven tightly, weekly warm embrace

Before within, the tide has come in
Absent sun
Between the doubt, the tide has gone out
Absent moonlight

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