Monday, March 24, 2008

in passing

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.....

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