The Lines Join

I have a delicate 
pink shell
frilled
crusted
holding clear clear
water reflecting
sunbeams
through vibrating air.
A perfect circle
of delicate lines
is the surface
of glass
smooth and still
masking
a quiet turmoil,
a subterranean rush
of vast events 
whirling, churning
into another phase
reflecting a face
with eyes upturned
to the smile
of another sun.

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