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the sea calls us in
by Shirin Swiftare these quiet bamboo times
necessary, are moths wrists, time
a roulette of berries and plums,
my love, the wall is cold
the carpet soft
the air is warm & dusk balances on us
the warm air is a failed actor
a premature compliment
a gaze unmet;
my love, the beach is packed up
and gone
lament or love?
I will start again
in the quiet house of bamboo,
morning,
far from the waves and their song
the people coloring in their lives
like children who are still young. 11/21/2006 Posted on 11/21/2006
Copyright © 2024 Shirin Swift
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Paganini Jones on 11/23/06 at 11:00 PM This is incredibly beautiful, lyrical, whistful. The last 6 lines stand well on their own, but the lines before set them into focus somehow. |
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