susurrus of the sea beckoned,
starched, awash in brine,
battered, dizzy at the helm,
wind-whipped, countenance corroded,
sun-dried, hardened at the edges,
decaying, rough-hewn of the Ages,
replenish, inter me where the tide is High


whence they come
mine tender thoughts?
adrift a gossamer breeze
of heaven’s hand,
or, perchance a summer moon?
what pokes and prods
relentless stirs
arouse me turn a loon?
me thinks tis them
come sure of mindless pen
danced of parchment Swoon


Was that the wind
A tempest blew,
Or ‘stead,
Vestiges of my life
Gone whooshing by?

~ ~ ~