I no longer afraid to be an outcast, speak.
I say let the words leap from everything,
Let the words leap from the sand dollar's fur,
Let words leap from dark spots made by rain on shore sand.
Even let the words leap from the beautiful dead,
The skeleton of the fish hooked and abandoned.
The green eye of the murdered shark decaying in sunlight.
Let the words leap from the cry of willets,
From the white flashes of their wings.
Let the words leap from the pink spots on cream-colored backs of stone crabs.
From barnacle covered black driftwood.
From the lonely hermit crab that has lost its shell.
From horseshoe crabs buried in oozing mud.
Let a holy language be born.
©Copyright Duane Locke