Air’s frosted and silvered by salt and the winter
Sky’s so impossibly blue one could be forgiven
For thinking all that was once known has
Been forgotten and these mottled branches
Of sycamore have been transformed into
Gnarled colonies of coral, and clusters of
Ornamental grass are anemones adorning some
Desolate seabed; nearby husks of hydrangeas
And winterberry may as well be sponges nudged
Towards a waterline by some wayward current
While low clouds gather like schools of guileless
Tangs and damsel fish to survey the dim chrome
Spatter of a green-house – a caravel somehow
Battered and brushed ashore – the expanse
Of sail lifting feebly like a wing that’s torn
Or tearing in a tangle of wind, though we,
Too, are wind-tossed and in bitter need
Of ballast – disoriented castaways stranded
Amid iridescent tides while the elements
Conspire to transform the shoreline into
Something utterly strange and not of this world.
John’s first volume of poems, “In the Lilac Hour,” was published last year by Antrim House, and it is available on Amazon.
Art Photo Credit: Raimundo Fernandez Diez via Getty Images
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