June 11, 2012

poem 184 of a poem a day for 2012

driving the mane

our hands wear time
around what our skin
does drumming legs
resting our eyes
turning petal drives 
into pistil wings
singing the fool praises of warm 
waves and angels who like
to get dirty too
in the tide pools
of garden reach

this beach is all
I want today
this beach is all
scented crawl
this beach is
where you wash
over me and tell me
in insistent whispers
to keep my hands
on the wheel
and lean inside
the undertow arc 
of each turn
of the bloom
between us


1 comment:

  1. This is so many things...elegant, gentle and with a little sense of urgency thrown in, like an anticipatory chill. So, so good.