I remember those long winding summer days, waking to Dawn’s tread on the shingle

At length we would brown ourselves under the flaming plate, the lamp for the land
Then, perching idly amongst the shore bidden Amaranths, we’d wait
Listening for the tide to knock on night’s door, when a dark velvet drape was hung
Where moths had eaten holes light snuck through. We called them stars…

We would wonder at times like these, until sleep stole silently upon us, at how someone had gone to so much trouble to make it all


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: