Deer Rows,
Eye right to ask for you’re hand inn marriage. Pleas no that eye fined you suite and fare. If aloud two eye wood love you four ever. If eye halve one yore heart eye will by ewe a wring maid of gold. Eye prey that ewe will knot say know as that wood brake my heart. Merry me oar my sole may dye.
Sincerely,
Gym
Tide to the moon
Surface, secret keeper of the deep
Sun glittered and wind rippled
Or savagely dark
Guards shapes, sizes, colours, textures
Salty fins and tentacles
Surviving and thriving
Where we cannot see or breathe
Larger than land
Bluer and blacker than sky
Mother of oxygen
For millions of years
Permeated with languages
We cannot speak
Sung by creatures
We cannot fathom
It has a heft to it. The weight of years and people and love and loss. In its former forms it was three wedding rings, two engagement rings, and a birthday gift to a sixteen year old girl. The girl has grown into grandmother. All the diamonds and gold have become gifts from the dead, sitting in dark boxes, fading like memories. Delight turned dull and saddening. Until one day there is an idea, and a goldsmith, forging all those lingering loves into new purpose, with a real heft to it. Diverse diamonds spin a tiny galaxy on a field of freshly polished gold. Again adorning a hand, its unique composition tempts curiosity to reveal its many stories, history of family. Perhaps in time it will grow into a bracelet.