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High

by David Maurice

I'd tire
Like an albatross
months to sea

And she'd see it,
leave an island
in her wake,
volcanic ash
clinging
to her skirts

I descend,
and the world
drops grey around


04/08/2012

Author's Note: Farrago of my farraguts.

Posted on 04/08/2012
Copyright © 2021 David Maurice

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 04/08/12 at 02:40 PM

Wonderful, grim.

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