Waves

Waves

Waves lap against the length of my bed
Something supple & salt warm, a long blue of crashes
roll fierce in a soft spill.
I am tired of the intercourse of stealth on this spread.
Some sublime longing, far away in the gray,
illuminates an orange sun.
Gulls glide into the wound of day.
From my human surface, I note the flat horizon.
The waves take pause to welcome
a hard breeze morning.
There is a merman stranded beneath the bed.
Long ago he slipped through the dream catcher.
It was hand made, but defective.

There is a repetition in the fall of waves
I believe I am in love with the sea,
with her one line song of familiar crashing.
My countenance is under water & distant.
I close my eyes to pursue my reflection.

Reviews

[W.k.kortas]

I hate, as a rule, to pick out individual lines in a piece, as it seems (in my view, anyway) to be part of the whole breaking the butterfly on wheel thing, but...lines four, eleven and twelve, sixteen and seventeen are just so well-constructed, so absolutely concise, that it makes a body just shake his head in wonder. The longing and wistfulness in this piece are so palpable, but not so heavy as to be sticky or acting to club the reader over the head. Top-shelf writing.

[Ed Hart]

you see, this is what a poet can do with it...