ONE LAST VISIT
One last visit to these highlands intact,
before the brazen light of day hits the
painted wall - the sad surf tumbles,
leaving its trail behind, shining shards
on darkened sand. High above, some
leftover daylight moon witnesses
silently this oceanic parade.
-
I am here, in a cubicle of dark, of
my own. I can sense the departure
of each wave, every breaker pouring
forth, in the same way words flow.
Now if I can only listen. For what
reason only they know, mad gulls
emblazon their time with noise.
-
So many things matter.
So many others do not.
One last visit to these highlands intact,
before the brazen light of day hits the
painted wall - the sad surf tumbles,
leaving its trail behind, shining shards
on darkened sand. High above, some
leftover daylight moon witnesses
silently this oceanic parade.
-
I am here, in a cubicle of dark, of
my own. I can sense the departure
of each wave, every breaker pouring
forth, in the same way words flow.
Now if I can only listen. For what
reason only they know, mad gulls
emblazon their time with noise.
-
So many things matter.
So many others do not.
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