Breathes of fine crashes tumble in benign
successions mounted below the lava smoked
lavender skies drifted from the Crimsoned lands;
where cold air wrapped it’s fingers around explosions in the sky
and throws its color across the salty shores – across Northern skies –
across and to my sandy shored visions.
Often, such gentle tempers amount in rhythmic
tumbles upon my sand sunken toes
while flattened and halved shells skim past
my house and coffee planted into the sand.
Often, such waves succeed in timed precessions
below skies shaded scarlet and ginger.
Two decades of fire filled skies at the declension of the day,
and today, and till summers end, the sky dressed in a light lilac,
scented and colored in lavenders.
And caverns catch the sea’s mist to the north;
dunes shoot up cattails that breathe in the straying
droplets of sea breezed moisture; and mine
eyes squint sharply at the shining sun –
tearing at the radiance of clouds fluffed to
purple perfection.
And such soft colors – plumped and purple – drift my mind.
I’d draw first blood for the Atlantic –
I’d kill for the silent shore to breathe a gentle song,
a somber whisper to weave through the hairs on my neck,
to wrap around and dance across my check bones and
to resonate it’s tender tones in bounced harmonies
well within my sunken eardrums.
And on this vast shore – unreflective love –
I stand alone; till my image sinks below
the receding
tide;
and till the fiery skyline returns.
