Archive
11/26/11 - (2)
Dream-Waves
The 3:00 p.m. tide is so low, Even the tens of strident seagulls and sandpipers Show no trepidation of being inundated By the incessant deckle-edged waves Undulating shoreward, toward you, Linda, As you sleep, serenely, beneath the striated sky, And me, biding my time, for the second you awaken, Gaze into my vigil, take my yearning hand, Weave your fingers between mine, And whisper, above the swells' sibilant syllables, Expressions of stressless happiness, Unfettered love for me, for the rest of our destiny.
Now, the tide is rising, rising inexorably higher. The birds, all but three, have disappeared Into the mysterious prophecy of the breeze. Even the clouds have slipped into oblivion's mists, Leaving the blazing sun to scour the beach, Burnish the rolling combers, Beckon me to seek the far edges of daydreams, Where you, Linda, are waiting, biding your time, For me to awaken within your dreams, So that you might take my fingers in your hand And gently weave them between yours — Waves flowing smoothly through waves.
11/26/11 - (2)
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