See, but cannot hear
soft wheat on bare feet
cold wind rushes by
like a baritone voice echoing off tiles
and then, quiet.
soft jazz rolls through the air like smoke
settling into the velvet armchair by the window
look out to the water, shut eyes and remember salt on the tongue
and wind pushing rocks to roll and tall, dry grass to quiver
like the dream of a lonely child
who shouts in despair
as he watches the last sail kiss the horizon.
No comments:
Post a Comment