The Wings of Eros

Dead low neap tide

beyond the shining expanse of sky merging into gleaming sea,

a lacy trim of breakers calmed by an off-shore wind.

not the black lace of

abandoned weed left to it’s fate

on this shimmering grit, these obsidian grains.


Wild water is but a memory

sea salt tears running into the sky

where do these end and the sea begin?


Carried in the upward draft

from the golden wings of Eros

above the wild water of his creation

to a vaster ocean, which has no tide.


Copyright 2008

One Responseso far.

  1. peterlebaige peterlebaige says:

    ‘Salt tears running into the sky’, lovely image, Susannah, and a beautiful title, I feel the lift on the wings above those ‘wild waters’, the smell of the sea carrying me aloft.

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