Thursday, January 6, 2011
Sun-warm savored, mellowing
my half-sleep, provoking dream.
Wooden dock, waving ocean
all warm and relaxed to extreme.
I have nowhere to go, nothing to do,
no business amongst the trees.
My back is not bent, the wind is not spent
and like me it has noone to please.
Exhilerated solace, lapping laughter reassuring,
The world is peaceful alone,
Distant, constant, turning.
The shade in my head, a soft tidal bed,
Sorting sediment soul,
The contented sun sighs and starts to set
Towards tomorrow’s goal.
The waves do leave and the leaves they wave
in their vitreous, twilighted way,
Ash of campfire falls,
Day we give away.