the touch by Jo Hallidaythose white Greek churches standing, carved out of time's fingers
grown out from land, to contain sea's noises, to
whisper sea's silences, man's quelled doubts;
like stretching out the deck of cards, before shuffle
the two nude swimmers run in, teeth chattering with cold, clinical joy
and feeling the sun and the glare, the coming dinner and the vacation,
evening's football still remaining under an old crumbling town's walls;
the blue sea does not ask questions nor answers, it seeks to embrace
me, every fish caught a lost nevermet brother, every bed of corals my lover's abode
and every boat in the large seeking to gain victory, over sea, over self. A god where dares. 06/04/2010 Posted on 06/04/2010 Copyright © 2024 Jo Halliday
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