Tuesday, May 6, 2014

the forest is the sea
from these depths there are infinite reefs of welfare
scholarships of verdant greens, blurred visions frosty like iced asparagus
in a state of preservation
promise it was the tide, the weather, and the magnetic possibilities that vortexed the mystery
they are to blame
for the wrecked comets of lichen and moss 
and a spurious sunken lighthouse
there might have been more  
and this only a shadow
an emerald phantom harboring beneath the ocean's glistening sheet
languid and whispering