Tuesday, December 11, 2012

April, Point Reyes

Where sun draws all
But silver off it
And wind sends waves
Swimming marbled
Over themselves,
The sea seems an
Impossible idea.

I too am an unlikely thing,
Where a lone crow
Kites over dunes
Cawing our lone note
Into the pull of
Moon and stars.

In the roar, where
All their voices are,
I listen,
Where spray and
Turquoise coils glisten,
One impossible idea
Greets another.

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