BlueFeather
2010-05-16 07:04:47 UTC
Morning air is crisp and clear,
a taste of salt in every breath,
where waves wash along the shore
as if wanting to walk with me.
Overhead in contentious flight,
gulls and terns are squabbling
in shrill squawks and cries,
like kids playing in the park.
Far away, well beyond the swells,
tiny white dots shimmer in the sun
like accidental beads of paint
on an unknown artist's hand.
Like some old forgotten highway,
a broken wooden pier stands
with barnacled legs planted
against a swirling sea.
And here a melting tree of kelp
lies inert, liquidly on the sand,
its little brown bulbs and leaves
gasping a last bit of life away.
Memories float through my mind,
adrift in time's misty current,
to sweeten this forlorn present
absent now of those treasures.