arcs of white water, light
falls of stone up-grown,
solemn in memoriam
silently observing
the water’s rushing, murmuring
the quiet and the whispering:
through tapping feet and laughter,
solitary sitters, troops of groups,
couples camped, and childish patters
—tonight there’s a mere few
then two
the white the light the stone the whispers
beneath the wounded moon
silver surfing patina swells,
caps of white, water, light
No comments:
Post a Comment