Wednesday, March 25, 2015

Robinson Waves

I have walked half a century,
Searching for truth,
and the path is full of heights.
.
sun burnt neck,
dizzy eyes,
my camera sharp, my legs strong.
.
the woods push like currents
and i grow weak,
and cold, and begin to look down  at the shore.
.
the tunnel is narrow,
the bushes show their spiky teeth,
i keep moving my feet.
.
March air, Robinson waves,
A mother hen leads eight small chicks,
a photo of them smiles at
Sunset Beach, a magical love.