Monday, September 22, 2008

Lonley as the Sea

There is nothing more to write
than this lament of weeping gulls
nothing more to hear than wing-
fluttered air as it moves ever upward
away from everything we've ever known.
It cannot be matched, this etheral
blue that passes through all surface
permeates sea's glassy eye until awash
I become wave cresting reckless
ever further from home;

mouth full of broken shells
iron salt of lost coins.

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