Monday, 23 January 2012

Misty Curtains

Misty curtains dripping

From the ceiling

Washing metallic onto my tongue

Out at birdcage pier

On a grainy day.

Wind carpet beating the tide

It chases me on pebble slides

Or dives away

To the horizon folded over the sun.

A crow taps a shell on a stone.

I taste the cold

A breath for a new wave

She must be another bird

To be calling on the beach today.

Wave flash

Slate dancing

Only I can hear me

The crow unconcerned

Carries his meat to a high table.

Give me purple sea fern

And nothing worth money.



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