Here the sand dunes waiting for rain
And the tidal pools thirsting for salt,
The lightning heaving a cutlass, bitten
By darkness- fighting the night sky
Waves, tide, shoreline, shells, stones;
The storm swaddles the sea- pokes the
Peevish gutters of rain.
It is an old sea
Listless among the empty spaces,
One hand on the door to the morn,
To the sun that walks
In the next room.
Begins to lose its touch, its smell
Broken images washing up on the shore
Where the rain beats,
Its shadow striding behind
On the final stroke of the hour.
Ascends the storm- flinging lightning
Like candle flames
Carving the sea, the whale swim,
So rudely forced
Filling the dunes with an inviolable voice,
So rudely forced.
And the sun, so elegant
“I shall rush out and walk the dawn”
And the storm closing its lidless eyes
A withering, staring form
And the sea like colored glass, flowing
No longer the silence.
Copyright © 11/17/2016 lance sheridan®