Inside out

Some poems and reflections on life


1 Comment

clues to existence

Debris strewn at high-tide line
are clues to hidden realms

Chunks of feathered weed
blood red, torn bleeding from a
submarine forest mixed with

Smooth polished sticks
washed down in the storm
worn smooth by sand and salt

Neither survives the other’s world
they meet, greet and die.

Advertisements