Catalan
She tucks hair behind her ears,
sheen gathers, raven is the light of her.
She lifts him over dark breakwaters,
eyes closed, she funnels him
into her purse seine.
Fingers fit watery gloves,
olive oil and rose water, flavors spill.
Catalan rain clouds weep their sweet moments.
A tarragon musk, a salty lamina folded through
anemone fingers. Gestures flex and unwind.
A topaz sun rides over evening waves,
dips for darting anchovies, sinks into memory.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2021
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