Wednesday, July 6, 2011


Hear the one echo of a rolling silver tide,
that moon who rumbles in ghost-voices
trembling from the might of youth footsteps.
Those who walk in these steps of sand
will know the sweetness of salt
as the waves hit their feet
to drag their tracks
into the dark reaches of the ocean;
never truly gone
but to a great whole.
By the beach of summer nights,
an island holds memory in its arms
as I lay to rest on its shoulders
waking with the waves in my mouth,
gazing listlessly into the shoreline.

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