Bent To Beaches
Words ride ocean’s move to land on pale sand,
leaving private meanings
to be gathered by others, as possibly having significance
waves wash away gritty bitterness
stuck in craw of a seagull who swooped,
like wayward thought, for some tidbit of truth
this is my flesh, this ridged and welted leap
for safety on foreign shores
this is my heart, gathering in nooks and crannies
between tidal pools and sharp-cliffed gaps
this is my soul, seeping back to lap of its mother
after all is said and done
Live, darlings live, a dozen penned breaths
in order to become reefs of legacy
that I was here
see, here are broken-hearted pieces of it
languishing on littered beaches
where love left them
touch tossed phrases, stanzas roiling in surf
and poems, piling up on tongue of toil
going, returning, attempting
to have Love love itself
I am a poet, pining to pen cemented passions
so it can be said of me
oh but life scraped her stone-ground faith
so finely, it dances on ocean’s soul
I was here where poetry pants on life’s edges.
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