Wednesday, June 29, 2016

Robert Verdon, #190, Voyage

In expectation she stood
numb as driftwood,
in a swirl of tannic breeze
on a middling beach by a desert,
horizon swirling out like a skirt;
spokeshaved days falling away,
glissando summers gone, stars
winking in new ginger beer, new
friends with carefree caressing hands,

this star, this sun, a hot iron fallen over,
the untarnished sand lambswool,
yet her bare feet sting;
and she can touch with her mind only
the guttering shadow of a
remembered myrtle,
and as the night falls,
begin to sing.


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