Soup-by-Spider–Photo by Peggy Honeydew
Sea Mark Bells
The shimmering city
faded to phantom
distant in gold
from the mist
rising off the sea roll
while sea mark bells
guided ships
inward from vastness
then again to all blue,
we entered the gates
through cold wind.
In my swimming
the bay grasses
touched soft as dark hair
between your legs
in both the openness
that we spanned
moving like bridges
hidden in morning
above the canyons
of watery wildflowers.
I curved my arm
around you
like the shoreline retreats
and curlews flee.
~ John Swain
THIS IS OUR WORLD,
look,
it’s beautiful.
This is my ear, a shell
a curve, a wave.
This is my right hand
typing this message
to you, the world.
Here is my arm resting on this desk
my body, leaning towards the screen.
Here, let me look at you.
(Shifts in chair)
Yes, I see you.
Here is my name writ in mud
there is yours, alongside
in the sand.
Here our lives.
Here is my sigh.
There is your name.
Here is my neck.
There is your hair.
My name is inscribed in your hair
Your eyes read my poem.
My name is your lifetime
My shoulder our golden mean.
Here is my self
scribbling these words.
There stands you
– in the rain.
~ Geraldine Green