The Concrete Bench
You would have no way to know
For I am showing you only beauty
It is what I frame, in the imaginary crosshairs
Of my lens
Cropping out ugly, should it
Creep into my viewfinder
As I sit alone, in grateful solitude
On a bench I call my own
Made in my imagination
Just for me, grey, stone-cold, sturdy
To
Reflect
And be reflected
Dream and watch the dreams float by
Held
And undergirded, by the sea
The seen and unseen
Pass me by
While I count the joy and toss the pain
Into the sea, a salty grave
For tears
elizabeth w. marshall 