Rungholt
Whirls of wicker and calico,
of turf and salt,
of cats and fish.
A bitter hit of a night.
The eyes of those
surprised by sudden depths
are bitter and open.
They drink sea under
the glass of a cracked tide,
in green tunnels of waves.
The water children flail under a sea moon.
The sea drags across the dark silt,
hear the bell, hear the bells.
Copyright © Leslie Philibert | Year Posted 2016
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment