My praise is but
the catacombs of waves
the stuff of ant children
and young sunflowers.

Waves speak quieter
than I,
and go much further.
I wave,
the whole earth grows—
how my arrogance is so!

For all my glamour
the mollusks shed tenfold
and I,
with childlike grin
take discards home
to frame.


The reader brings his or her own experience to the poem and creates meaning. Here is my mine:

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