beating
to windward
Outside
the bungalow,
evening sand
chills beneath
an awning of sky in berlin
blue.
There is something sacred
of fire on a beach
that draws you
close
like a newborn to
its mother's breast.
When we touch again
I will remember this.
But for now, indefinite
circles of seconds
clocking
voices on a line
in this downtime of the heart.
Settled in the
cool of night
the flames persist.
Beating to windward.
16 mar 01
M
Madison | |
