Do Miracles Occur
He stood on such bandy legs, shaking,
I thought he would fall. His cigarette
Puffing like the grey white clouds above.
A lone heron flies high and jagged
Like the tips of the mountains
That brush this clouded sky, and surround the sea
Where our ship skims the shore with its
Light, a star rising from the blue black depths:
Can we wait until the sun sets?
Copyright © Jennifer Cahill | Year Posted 2012
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