The Bay
Holding,
We are held.
Woven,
enfolded,
Contained by these mountains,
Hills,
And this water.
Ocean,
Oh so immense
Rolling out beyond
Our Gate.
The West Wind
Comes,
Brings rain and fog
And clears the way
For slanting, piercing sun
That transfixes our afternoons,
Our hearts, our hopes.
Ó 2013 ted heimerdinger
No comments:
Post a Comment