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Holes
June 14, 2014
He dug holes
In his backyard,
Big black open wombs of the Earth
And in them he imagined
Was the sea,
And the waves
Were looming and
Passionate and free,
And boats of tinfoil
Were his knees,
salt was
His ankles,
reefs his ribs,
And a woman as
Tall as the wrinkles
in the current
Were tasteless
And the fishes
Were relief,
The water was poetry
And clouds were just as
Quick to follow
And it was beauty
Like strings of perfume in the shade
And I would take
All the words in the world
And feed them the seas,
To love that love of one
I’ve seen.
© Sara M., Milford, CT
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