the second day

watching creases
in her feet
hung on the ends
of brown legs
dangling,
end of summer legs
hanging over still
water reflecting
reluctance to
shoes and pavement.
preferring docks,
salt and sailing

swelling
hours
of morning
deck feet
balanced
skipping
dancing
swimming
'till evening's
lapping,
fish friends
bring sleep

never to
shoot a seagull
nor wear it
round her neck
at home on
gathered waters
ere she could
rightly know
dry ground
or that it was good,
wishing today was
the second day

letters

Thought to send you a letter.

That seemed contrived

and it better fit to tell you here

I saw the trees

sometimes straight sometimes knotted

sticks and branches

perfectly spaced to catch light

not a leaf to block

raindrops clinging

silver glistening

on mottled greys and browns.

Caged trees in city lines

they made me cry for fields

and mixed god thrown types

that catch imaginations’

wanting, take me

away from this lock box

of concrete and cars,

this people prison,

give me a hill 

where waters ripple

where grasses wet my feet 

as forgiveness

runs to a cove
and a small boat at anchor.

Would you meet me there

        or

would you rather a letter?