i.

Foam upon the shore hugs close

But does not know of me

The winding sea stews in throes

Of her possibilities.

Spoken prose from wordless lips

Tasteless and bitter I am spit

Seep into cracks without a sound.

I am here, abound.

The maize blow in numbers

The wind combing through her hair

With amber dawns a plunder.

You can find me there.

The world,

My humble resting place,

Unfurls in my grasp.

Fall bleeds to early spring

and through the days

I pass.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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