The Wash


Oh, all these cold little dogs
wearing sweaters today!
Their masters come to the beach
on long thin leather leashes.

I thought we would see rain,
so resisted coming for a walk.
Endless pipes of turbulent cloud,
until a wound opened.

Out of leaking intestines
pours this vivid blue,
the hue I recognize
from ordinary days.

Gatherers ritualize
a reading of the tidal wash.
Gulls attend with bent knees.
Together, alone, along the sea.

This entry was posted in poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

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

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

Twitter picture

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

Facebook photo

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

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s