by Gideon Burton
The woven ocean’s clothing, damp and dark,
unraveling in chilling, ragged strands
that mingle freely with the fingers, hands
of twilight tailoring the cold and stark
concluding hours, tucking waves to shore
and mending mist with foam, with cloud, with folds
of saline patterned herringbone in cold,
enduring fashion. Whether there is more
allowance given for the swells and tides,
I cannot specify, nor does there seem
an end to stitching crashing on the seams
that sew to the horizon black and wide.
The fabric tightens, twines my mouth and eyes
till I am drowned in Neptune’s laughing cries.
Feel free to copy, imitate, remix, or redistribute this poem as long as you give proper acknowledgment of authorship. Photo: flickr - Captain Kimo
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