Skeletal fingers,
chalky
in the dying brine
clutch at the water:
whited columns
in a graveyard to be.
We ignore those clutching hands
heedlessly.
They say all that has touched
the tide
some time
will be claimed
by the tide
again, someday--
and I know it's true
however far inland
you try to
get away.
What made you
grabs you in
the end.
No comments:
Post a Comment