Seashells

I collect moments like a child collects shells on the seashore.

Some of them many hue-ed and many-splendoured.
Sparkling with laughter, ribbed with love.

Some brown and heavy, sand-filled with tedium.

And yet others bleached white
with searing, arcing pain,
all colour wiped clean by misery.

And then the bits of shells,
broken moments that fell off before completion.

I collect moments like a child collects shells on the seashore
and weave them into the tapestry of life.