20 August, 2011

August Poem


On this early raft of light and time
we run together, the seaweed maidens and I
stretching and falling back on the bed of the sea
lighted by a curdling sky
Morning gathers, takes her shape
the ink smudges on the page
and we, the watchers, the floaters
make a snapshot of these several moments
when we were alive
when something that we would not shift
or alter
created us.