the burned butter sunrise sky
is behind her
where discarded seashells
wait
on the waterline
for the wave's next reach
ahead
is a place she doesn’t want to see
and it’s glowing brightly
tonight
he is lost at sea
so far away now,
she doesn’t need him anymore
and she doesn't know him anymore
except when she does
and sits
on the beach
like she does tonight
3 comments:
lovely.
reminds of the tales and songs of the maritimes/ coastal Ireland and Scotland.
Wicked awesome.
ulysses sounds like a bum, frankly. good poem though.
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