the dance of the ink riddled fingers

this water doesn’t reflect well

Posted in the poet-tree by enisea on 10/01/2011

The water seemed clear until I stirred it up
The lines in the sand were washed and cut
The dangers and distinctions became
Wooing and harmless and east was no less west than top

The oceans that tensed me seemed further away
These waters seemed warmer, closer to bay
The spray of salt breezes, now obviously charming
In a pile on the sand, my usual coverings lay

I’m too comfortable here, all this is, is fun
From my forecast a week ago, there is little chance of sun
So away from indulgences in misread arts
I’ll avoid any accidents of misplaced hearts

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