Rivers of wind rive, reave,
rove in the weave and brush the wave
of its foam...
But here is the sea again,
never gave a damn...
We were lost even to ourselves;
but here we are again
on world's shores swirled and chilled,
thrilling to the stone
looks like a snail with an inscribed shell,
sea-wrote, fate-wrote, maybe,
but eyes chose in delight,
as we choose to know the vastness
of this impartial margin,
imagine salt taste and sand stand,
toe gripping sunken land -
that ordinary tide the sister
of inexorable sea rise
or tsunami sweeping over steeples -
fanciful remarks we pass,
bellow down the snatching wind-ghosts,
acknowledging each other.
..........................
*My three children and I
YOU ARE READING
Wintering
PoetryIt's yet another MajorSeventh. Hop on the big shoulders and look ... Lastest poems are always posted last in my collections. Winter. So, expect sparse gardens, late autumn and wintry countryside, wry philosophy and humour, tenderness towards litt...
