The Boy

Little-breath dramas;

This is me:

The boy who

Never stopped trying

To catch the sea…

The surface changes so quickly-

Faster than the fates can think –

Reflected silver promise

Of weak, spring sunshine;

Patches of pewter-grey cloud,

Moving with the driven wind

Textures appear, vanish:

Planed, stacked, sculpted –

Held then changed.

Shapes of feathers, dragon claws,

Quills, fins, stretched thumbprints

On fine blue clay slip.

Fractals, ridges, furrows.

Not a boat or sail in sight,

No birds riding the salt air.

The storm is gone,

Cliffs hold breath in granite ribcages.

The road is damp; The long road,

The Tolkien one that

Goes ever on.

Memories change it,

The telling of tales,

But the sea rolling in,

Rolling out,

Pays no mind:

Has no mind to pay;  

Simply abides,

Surface changing so quickly …

 

Little breath dramas;

This is me …

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