A desert boy I;
Clad, entirely blue.
A desiccated, decrepit shell fixed, fated to stand;
In rigid, disembodied prose;
At common, with detritus, and buffeted stone.
White capped mountains break on valleys.
The soul’s infinite repast,
Aloft, on the wings of spindrift, to points irresolute.
Unremarked, dark, icy, salinated fingers devotedly, caress;
Drawing sharp edges of anguish,
Through bared toes, and the worn soles of my feet.
Hereafter, the smile of a child, and I,
Are indelibly knit, to the strand.
