A wind in the water presses

to the surface;

currents turn circles in oceans.


The paths of the ancients push

dark waters aside as they

pull from lands, meeting in the center.


Bones rest deep in blue black

sandy depths.

The violets of eyes wilt, feeding

the hungry and quick.

Sunlight fails under the hold of fathoms.


Beneath a deep night moon

voices rise, releasing names and messages

on the surface; an orchestra of last words

from the altars below.






Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s