Waxing Moon

My mind is a jumbled mess. I tripped and fell, on a flat surface, after carousing jagged rocks along the Atlantic shoreline. Now I am without my camera lens. Fortunately, the camera is working. Me, not so much. There is an inner arousal that is not easily calmed.

all my breath
saved in each embrace
-eternity.

I wrote it, so I must have felt it. I desire such peace. And grabbing a few pillows, a quilt and a favored book should do the trick. Replay the waves as they swish through my presence. Recall the gull and heavy-handed wind, carry the landscape home.

Waxing or waning moon?
Should I not spend
two drops of sun oil
on a loyal friend?

img_1495In the brisk
warmth of summer’s kiss
I shouted
towards the hovering freeze.