Running Sandpipers
hot grains of sand
Sea Grass
A restless sea
Gulls adrift
expanse of Blue
rippling, slurring,
windswept sand
Where Time stands still
A second time, and then again
And Look!
Encroaching clouds. Frothing White.
A bank of Blue
The White crest; quite lazy still
of a wave, inept, still, tenderness
sultry in its desolation, to caress
Desultory, standing still, no less
a castle, with shells -a child’s
built to futility, feckless edifice
abandoned to recklessness…Until
A well, Regal, Orange
and weltering
burnished Sun, blazing into Brown
emits all, extinguishing Bronze…
then Black
Settles lightly
at a line without
limit
without tendresse
slowly,
and submerges
where visible still
in significance
with a view of sand and stand visibly
sea in front and
with me
in all finality
But with me
fully burnished Bronzed and Teal and Teak
finally as it happens
All IS,
and quite pointedly,
still
Copyright Protected Work 1-25-17 -James Justin Legare
