Thursday, March 13, 2014

9. waiting for no man

You are on the hem of the sea,
where a foamy border
tickles the imagination;
lost in the waves,
drowning in wonderment.
Here are unshared thoughts
in haphazard tumble
folded and turning
in the splash and trickle
of the moment.
You do not see the dangers
the small peril of wet clothes;
your eyes see beyond,
in the in-between meantime
of droplet and oceans,
where all the time
is playtime.
This is the place to inhabit
waiting for no man.
“Hush, do not disturb”
says the swishing shingle
tripping to and fro
and the pulsing of the sea
begins its hypnotic
siren call

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