by Jessica Anderson
She sits and draws faint lines within the sand
as sable grains grit soft across her palm;
her eyes are dark, the shadows-near command
the quiet muse of ocean's far-off qualm.
Horizon's clouds bright flash an evening glare
as fingers trace the shadows cool and light;
the wind begins to blow and empty air
impregnates sky with wind and drops of night.
Thoughts swirl as waters crash, a hurricane
of dancing doubts that tear within her mind;
sighs heave, breaths cry within the falling rain
with heavy hopes that never yet resign.
Soft, still she waits, her eyes in vespered form,
a muted witness to the perfect storm.
Photo: flickr -