Debi

Guest Poems

unnamed

Bones of shore shells,
lightening welk clicks
your sea swept anguish
among ebbing tangles
of sea fans

you think I don't hear you
amidst the great growling
and fury of dark facings,
incessant rolling

but I read the finer print,
surf written webbings, voice
of winds far at sea,
see the delicate tracks of
small footed life,
lying in snail curled phosphor

tiny unfolding that began here
where you have risen
your dark baptism,
lived through the storms . . .

the ending small movements
are not missed, the
sea spits its foaming cups,
so many smoking spray forms
only the flashing of
a vast pinball machine,
but we surmise the real ball

the palms' frantic waving,
signaling lovers in ghost ships
that roll the mists in
their tattered course.

I see your magnitude
light the red scudded horizon,
know some of the ships
may not be at all dead.