Poetry
Mixed
a poem
Mar 19, 2024
With churn-butter arms
I mix myself in with the world.
Floating on velvet,
sea membrane flirts with air, wavers.
I drift on the breeze
under scrutiny of seagulls,
alighting from posts
as I pass through the gray channel.
The papery sound
of edges flying in the gusts,
the voices of birds
nestled deep in the old forest-
ghost of a forest-
solitary trees, houses, yet
there’s a persisting
core of hearty birdsong within.
I am all vector,
a slight disturbance of water,
wayward intention
through wind- tousled fields of silver.
The breeze cries through masts
in the old boat-yard corridor.
I listen to it,
ears crisped with lingering winter.
Sobs of wind fade out
as crinkled surface carries me
back to origin,
mixed in with all that I savor.
