Backspin
lost somewhere
in the triangle
of Self
and Sense and Soul
we swim
far beyond
chance of rescue
we cling to drifwood
with sunburnt arms
still strong
silent within
the back spin
recollecting
when we were abandoned
and why
our eyes
search the horizon
faithfully
until we tire
and slip under
Copyright © Greg Easley | Year Posted 2006
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