The Cliffs of Sand and Sea

The music is her breath, or…wind… into the open bottle. The songs of folk-lore. *** Around her bon-fire, embers sear the sleeve, of her Hoodie; The sparks are as red as the blood of a burst aneurism. Thus... she could have a "broken heart". The sparklers in their hands, the flames of our Sun, dressing the edges... of Sorrento Cliffs, that think they could conquer the sky. The beach in a dream... melts the sea and sky into a flesh- colored palette of all light browns. I said, She listened... I like her. *** A chord, of a guitar, strummed; a piano played by ear. Meg rocked to the melody of her life. Human-like spirits...Gods… in her eyes. *** He remembers: The 1940s- a decade as dark as a tree in the night… to me. A poet’s verse. By Walt Whitman. The "Nor' Easter" crushes... yet... the snow falling: hush... such a yearning is mine. *** Dissection… of the sentence; a line... " No, this is a true story!" The story… as simple as the BUD in Spring, as complex as the flower, as it BLOOMS.