Nobody asks
what it is that has me
brushing wet sand kindly
with a flattened palm,
whilst
cradling a dead log
like a baby seal.
With sanctity I sit
in blue and white,
on the beach,
head suitably tilted.
Madonna and log.
It,
eyeing me fondly
smiling as I lullaby
it.
Him.
And if I can hold us together
in the simple song I sing,
the red raw gut-wrench
just might stop
and still itself
in the not-Now.
I’m smiling too. Love this.
Heaven knows what it is, it sort of drifted into the Madonna image!
hey, great poem, great blog, and very funny header!
Good stuff!