A sheltered sound. An ocean’s
ground, where sadness floods around.
Life disconnects. Love resurrects
simple shapes from broken hearts,
to be held inside serenity.
A shell. Far from an engulfing Hell,
towards that edge, that gulf, to tell
our eyes in calming oceans
we can repeat that familiar motion.
I find that nothing else can take
what little there exists to break.
Your feet, stepped into puddles,
your face, mirrored in reflections.
Are you inside, with me,
wandering towards that vacant seat?
Something comes up. A sun, with
its burning image. If we can keep
our passions, afloat, we will
never become as earth,
never remain still.
Do not wave farewell, while
our breaths keep guiding currents.
These drifts. On sands, we can lay here
to sift our hands, in those skies –
to spread us across, when dark
does come to drown us,
bonded to that naked sun.
Modern Romanticism 