By Chris
Date: 19 February 2001
Convection
Lazy haze ablaze with rays of sun
and standing here with scratchy sand between my toes,
the wind blows and the wind flows
whispering acknowledgement in my ears of here and there,
but for now it's here with me and the sea
and she runs sihouetted by the sun along
the rhythmic surf against this beach.
My fingers cold but I am warm
and warmer still in spite of the chill
with this dancing, prancing ballerina
over and above the hues of blue
and crews of fishermen sweeping the ocean floor.
And with my door blown open,
heavy and cumbersome days float away
on tanned hills that crease where they meet,
and she has room to enter into me
for the wind of the sea seems to be
my salty stress convection.
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