Sunday, October 17, 2010

End In Sight.

A watercolor sunset, a magnificently swollen bruise,
fades and beckons to us. It throbs in our eyes.
The restless ocean swallows itself again and again,
tiny ripples scratching the tired shoulders of the shoreline.
Smoke from distant explosions threads the storm clouds
Encroaching on the horizon. Charcoal fumes.
A chill wind throws itself recklessly about us.
A tiny nor'easter. A baby maelstrom. A sigh.

And your hand squeezing mine. Our feet
Dug into the cool sand, this blue desert song of ash.
My stomach tight with some brew of fear and hunger
Anchors me to this; A soft anxiety gnawing on the tail of Time.
Every dawn colder than the last.
Our faces aching and dim.