Opening, Closing

​Mornings, on the planet where I’m from,
we’d sit on the veranda, wrapped together 
as a family of four, in crow-feather quilts, drinking plum coffee.  

Evenings we’d wander alone, spread out on the beach 
drinking milk wine from last years horse, 
and cry for the loves we’d sent back out to sea,

and I’d sit on some strange washed up artifact and laugh
at the blue crabs hopping like rabbits toward the sunken tide,
then, sad again, I’d look at the waves as if expecting

the sea would bring one of them back.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s