Some nights I am blank
as a sheet without creases,
the interval before water
stretches and swells
into wave.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
Some nights I am blank
as a sheet without creases,
the interval before water
stretches and swells
into wave.
I like this a lot.
Thinking about it again this A.M., it reminded me of one of my favorite paintings, John Marin’s The Written Sea. Your poem is more like the other side of the sea (the unwritten part, if you will).