Every sea that i passed

Along the beach and the whispering sand
the moon slowly appears
its light like a street lamp being lit, the
sun on the horizon
its grin hard like a sinking ship; and
through the spaces of
shadows, bones of driftwood in the dune
hill grasses thirsting

For a drink; and i peering through the same
pane window it seems,
rusting window much as my toys did, lost
like my youthful pockets,
but not like a memory half past my age; nor
the smells dusted off
like passageways to sawdust doors- i walk
with my sandy feet

In the sea sand, past boat shadows anchored
on shore; i dozed
for a moment and then it all came back- paper
skies and the laugh
of my childhood, the flickering dawns, the
seagull cries; curled
waves and tiny crabs pushing up wet umbrellas
in the tide

And the sea sound, its voice in the rigging of
the sky and clouds,
rounded homeward- in the summer and winter
light; its sound, the
tolling bell, measuring time in my bedroom
dreams, clanging between
midnight and dawn- it pulls me back, back to
every sea that i passed
(over shallow pools to the drifting sails of waves).

Copyright © 08/13/2016 lance sheridan®


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