The open casement by my bed
hears the Georgian shore’s
moonless night,
Listen in the black
close by
the water’s edge,
lapping stones and sand,
Swoosh to sleep,
Swoosh to sleep .
Whispers shush,
small waves sweep back,
as I softly curl
away from shapes
into my own seeped dream,
floating below surface ripples,
spent in my windswept crashes
of breaking foamy fist’s thundering pound,
splashing white on the grey gone day,
surge subsided
now the quiet pumping
under my skin
my own
blood flood shore.
Back-country journeys, travels through a mind and other explorations