Here I’m sitting on the bed,
I can see all the way out to the doorway,
I can see
my wintercoat, my hat,
my scarf
on the hanger.
Why not
my wintercoat, my hat
my scarf
sitting here on the bed,
and me hanging
on the hanger?
Would they watch me?
holding her face to a crystal
formed shell,
the irony of what lay on
the foreshore was less apparent,
some wanted the reach of
mistral winds to grasp her thoughts
and send them away,
lips to kiss a transposed image,
behind open emptiness,
sky littered with white swirl gulls,
she leaned against nothing
remaining upright
let it fall back to the sand
realizing his soul had drowned in
his body,
and there would be no counting
the years on fingers
velvetmedia 