By Hollis Druhet
The warmth loosely contained within freshly steeped black tea
Mediated by the addition of honey and milk,
leads one to contemplate a little getaway, say
An empty beach, shaded by the propitious sunset.
Genial star, touched at midriff by the equivocal ocean,
this evening gives birth to a carnelian hue –
An amused, passionate color : fluent in the act of until-next-times
saturated with all the world’s au revoirs
a gift from mother nature
Just missing a bow wrap.
To be alone at day’s end, coolly sedate
on the shoreline – you can still spot in the distance
the shining amber and obstinating flares, white as
a whisper, breaking from far-flung street poles.
after the day’s lot has been cast :
after Helios has struck on his way.
There are whispers everywhere
And nowhere – a wind whisper, a whisper of contact
as your foot curls up
against chiffon-shaded pearls of sand
Valuing the texture and touch of each and every
little pebble: a world of its own
Whispers of aroma… The subtle emittance
of distinction from the nearby esplanade
suggesting its grassy comforts.
Deserted from others / If only for a moment
Nature reaches forth and calls attention.
Thinking of Emerson, a little solitude
precedes wholeness, an assurance.