Voices of many
blend in one
and separate
attenuate
in hollow
bamboo fences
like the flutes
of legendary beings;
basso profondo
darkly sings the sea
long-spaced
majestically
augmented by
tall organ pipes
of rock chimneys;
no bells tonight
the sheep
are folded in
out of the driving wind;
volatile upon
an airy tide
clouds launch
pale sails
across the line
of islands
contours definite
yet strange
in light-change.
Morning cuts
the gale with such
wild clarity
it takes my breath.
Prelude for the Island
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2003
Свидетельство о публикации №103021800299
Свидетельство о публикации №103021800299
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