Godless Soul
a pebble on the beach
slips through the sifting of
the sands
ebbing of the tide,
retreating waters
cupped in his hands
cloudy banks emerge
like billowing
bursts
idle are his ideas
as the rain falls
the winds gush the salted spray-
and she emerges
through the seaweed strands
Copyright © Jennifer Cahill | Year Posted 2011
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