Sunday, March 4, 2012

Impossible Purple

My tiny green beach house
is the third from the end.
From there I can walk to the
end of the island along Gulf
and return along the Sound.
Pony blown back like a flag
then around and into my mouth
on the way back.
The wind blowing the white
sand into ripples whistles
stops just short of singing.
And my long shadow crossing
the ripples is an impossible purple

1 comment:

 I have written a lot about my belly - series of poems dedicated to it. I happen to like my belly. Always have Oh, I know it's not what ...