reaching

tortured sky
collapses
moments frozen
in prose
a fisherman
in the rain
head bowed
the flowing water
a wisp of smoke rises
pipe in hand
gulls swoop and caw
littered docks
the lighthouse
dreamt as
a tower
now
intervenes
casting light
shadows dance
across your tender face
tender thoughts
the dried corsage
held deep
in the fisherman’s pocket
remembers you.

– Previously Published 2002
Marco Ashcroft and Maysa Peterson
in Renga Rounds

dried flowers

One thought on “reaching

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