My gratitude, worn into these pieces of sea glass, stashed together in a container from the Barrington milk exchange. "Tripletest," it reads, "a name to remember."
My gratitude written into the pages of The Open Road, its pages torn out, replaced with the poems of Shakesphere and e.e. Cummings, glossy photographs saved from old magazines and a hand-written copy of The Yellow Wallpaper, "a story," she told me, "reminding me of you."
My gratitude etched into the lines of this scallop shell, and into the palm of your hand, remembering what you carried through those sacred paths and hidden places.
My gratitude written into these lines from Ginsberg's journel, scented with lavender. Then
bursting open and given to You (as light shines through these water drops)