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By chris Date: 2004 Oct 12 Comment on this Work [[2004.10.12.16.03.17273]] |
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the night runs deep here and trees reach over the road that we follow back to the beach after dinner at the haunted (they say) colonial tavern where you sit outside wrapped in a blanket but still cold so tomorrow i'll be 32 next week we'll be six months old even though time barely exists here washed smooth and buried in sand like the stones we gathered earlier to bring back to our desert along with all the things we find or that find us there's no rush i tell you not entirely believing my own words as the lighthouse stands solemn and strong down the coast warning always for rocks pointing the way finally there's nothing to say and i look at you looking out at this ocean made white with wind and gulls circling even in the dark for food stirred up in the surf for what it's worth i believe i've never seen beauty like yours either lit by a burning sun or in all my best dreams |