counting waves 

September 25, 2015 § Leave a comment

the surf swells like 

a timpani

tuned low and rising

through the final movement
lifting me out of torrid

crowds and setting

me on this jetty where 
foam and kelp are

worked like remembrances
counting waves

as horizon dips below sun

      a distant summer

      come again
one before travel

before travail, when

       

parameters of love

were marked for us

with chalk

not wire and

days started

with wonder and

ended the same 
we didn’t have to count

waves then

we rode them

oblivious to those

on the rocks watching us

a sad recognition 

in their eyes
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead 

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