LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth |
CAMP Poetry |
For Allen at 40
When I walk on the beach with you Looking for shells, The ones I find, in multitudes, Come to me, like my dreams, Mostly as fragments, imperfect in some way, Jagged edges, a hole worn in the middle, Their inherent wholeness interrupted, Their completeness no longer intact. You, though, have always had the knack For seeing the whole shell Ahead of you, Yards down the beach, Long before I can see it, If I ever see it at all. You capture your shells, and your dreams Whole, intact, complete. Who would have, could have dreamed, Years ago, so far from where we are now, What incredible visions you saw ahead, What dreams you dreamed, What paths and beaches you would choose to walk, To capture the wholeness of those dreams? Who, my love, but you could have dreamed What you and I have done? David S. Cristy |
LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth, Vol. 11, No. 6, June 1, 2001. |