The Locket (for Morts)

The Locket

I found it between the rocks,
a flash
in the dimple of beach’s smirk;
Vishnu blue pool,
untroubled
by the roar
of the rising tide
and hissing sand.

Crab did its sidestep shuffle;
my hand
just another specimen under
investigation;
nature’s microscope
revealing
an ashen-white squid
of a different kind.

A locket of Celtic design;
a stone,
a lighter shade of Royal purple
in the middle
of intricate hearts,
split
by the rusted veins
of modern history.

Breaking a sliver of seaweed as seal,
the glass cover
crumbled into its original form;
sand-diamond-drops
flaking away:
glitterati
at the attendance
of the century.

An indiscernible engraving
on the back:
the name of the woman in the picture,
or the black Doberman
by her side?

How was I
supposed to know
not to put it on?

words by Ramon Ramirez

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