Monday, March 24, 2008
calm waters collect around low branches
a distant call on red wing point
a distant siren fading on highways
she's standing at the edge of a short pier
facing out into the distance
while black braids dance darkly
around her smouldering shoulders
one hand closed, clutching hope
one stretched open for the hand of his ghost
the sun sits frozen between the trees
blinks out and peeks over cold seas
a gift unopened placed at her bare feet
and the old boards creak where they used to meet
they give the world...
they wait for the word.....