Tuesday, September 30, 2014

The Descent of Winter: 9/30

Hendrik Willem Mesdag, Hooge Zee; Waves

There are no perfect waves——
Your writings are a sea
full of misspellings and
faulty sentences. Level. Troubled.

A center distant from the land
touched by the wings
of nearly silent birds
that never seem to rest——

This is the sadness of the sea——
waves like words, all broken——
a sameness of lifting and falling mood.

I lean watching the detail
of brittle crest, the delicate
imperfect foam, yellow weed
one piece like another——

There is no hope——if not a coral
island slowly forming
to wait for birds to drop
the seeds to make it habitable.



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