but there were faces, uncovered,
In the wood grain
In the swirls of water washing over her calm body,
Speak of gray blue eyes,
Speak of sad questioning lips and
Pearl earlobes,
In the lines of dark and lite text,
In the spools of seagulls’ footprints,
And they were seen, they must have been,
In the mixing of sand and salt water
The current pulled them in
And pushed them under;
So all voices of waves, wind,
And gulls cried over
Her too calm body curved in the current
There on the shore.
And they begged her
with beating
to breathe,
to dance,
to play.
But she did not on that day.
Recent Comments