Sand Lost to the Fermentation of Time
by Frank Watson
I sit in a tree,
I howl at the sea . . .
The moonless night has won—
It echoes back, “we’re done.”

The waters of fermentation
Bring back clusters dead;
I soak pale bread
And eat without nutrition.

I traveled countless dunes
I walked to distant moons—
What strange tales I’ve spun
’Cause she and I are done.

Wrapped in sand
I melt into the heat;
Dead beneath the land,
We’ll never meet.




Linking this poem to today's dVerse Poets Open Link Night

 
All writings and translations are Copyright © by Frank Watson, also writing as "Blue Flute" (2011-2014).
Year: 
2013