© Steve King
All rights reserved
bright sands raked by an unyielding wind
grey sea trimmed with white breakers
gulls adrift pure of flight on their distant azure plain
and the driftwood holding at the center
still through tides and gathering dunes
unmoved
as if in rapt dreaming
of dark mother forests so long gone
and damp wooded ground
a hint in its sere core
of the taste of ripe loam
from some other distant shore
dreaming all one
bright sun and sands
‘til it becomes a hatrack
in some idling tourist’s hand