out here on the edge of the shore
you watch light
shattering the clouds
the blue moving into openings
the shrill call of gulls
~
so much on the island’s horizon
a writer’s sea of loneliness
sequestered
in the fog
there are tales to tell
words spilling like waves
washing past wreckage
plundering past pillage
a flotsam
a keen intervention
the clean sweep
pulls, tidal, receedes
along the reeds
shore of memories
slivered silverlight
beacon
beckons, pearly
late afternoon
the colors of the washed stones
sentinels
the little bones of the birds
or in the mist
a stretch of lions
bask
dip, rolling
fins crest like totems
all under the great glassy haze
of the inner sky
where the heart learns
it can float
whispers
the shore of silence
the long lived ways and days
monastic now
watching wind
~
“mystic sea” — copyright 2011 — all rights reserved
VALENTINE BONNAIRE - WRITER 