The Shell
Its mouth cold and hard
Against my ear
Not turning a deaf ear
Against its hardness
Soft sighing I hear
Whispered echoes
Murmured
The soulful longing
To return,
To where, ocean’s gentleness
Sweeps across sand
Obliterating tracks and traces
The present, remade untouched
I turn my ear
To whispered echoes
The mellow longing
To what or where
I know not
The present remains
Tracks and traces
