i.
Foam upon the shore hugs close
But does not know of me
The winding sea stews in throes
Of her possibilities.
Spoken prose from wordless lips
Tasteless and bitter I am spit
Seep into cracks without a sound.
I am here, abound.
The maize blow in numbers
The wind combing through her hair
With amber dawns a plunder.
You can find me there.
The world,
My humble resting place,
Unfurls in my grasp.
Fall bleeds to early spring
and through the days
I pass.
This poem is about:
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: