Poem: Zen Garden

These five beach stones from Nova Scotia, mountains in a sea of sand; no two alike in shape or hue but polished to a liquid glow, glisten as if water-soaked, unlike the smooth white ball of quartz, (a turtle’s egg you might well think) set on a bench, as if observing, without thought, that nothing’s what it seems to be, and yet there is this woven web connecting ocean, bone, blood, breath.

—Sarah Rossiter

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