By The Ashes of Anaïs Nin
As I dreamed
I was floating
there,
I could spy
palm trees and
beautiful young men and
beautiful young women
moving like carefree quicksilver
upon the sands of the shoreline,
upon the sands of time, slow
beneath their feet at first,
then all at once quick
and swallowing clocks,
swallowing secrets,
like the one's being whispered
just below the surface
of Santa Monica Bay
by the ashes of Anaïs Nin,
as I dreamed
I was floating
there.
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