Saturday, June 14, 2014

Another sad case of literate sunbathing

Seaflowers bend like assassins to their task
& in dreams I never hesitate
but I stop long enough to have my palm
read by a chainsmoking Ethiopian woman
wearing a hair net
She describes a darker shade of morning glory
It wasn’t like walking barefoot on broken glass
although the waves were rich in foam
& jagged pieces of sunlight
You glide between that which is given
& that which is taken away
Never mind the sparrow’s song nor the choir of
asthmatic gulls
                               there is a music that's best kept
somewhere deep inside  
somewhere you can go when you need to
& that’s where I am right now
hunkered down inside the sound a seashell makes
sliding across the strings of a dulcimer