Saturday, December 27, 2008

Intemperate

All at sea with the way he left
me still standing with a grin
slightest of wind shifts
blue his net-cast eyes
out and over different directions

such slow retreat of hands
from the roundness of knees
such hat-trick clouds
such impermeable shapes

sticks stiff with sand
unfinished half-names
scrawled into tides

Oh the tide --
yawns wide
greedy for everything.

2 comments:

William Shakespeare said...

Oh this is interesting, I like this alot.

Deb said...

Thank you Will

; )