Posted in Photography, Poetry

Dance Upon the Waters

Wayward Be. Being Me.
Because life is random.
What of the melting snow
and drifting sand?
He ponders the arrows
of a cloud’s gripping hand.
Watches wind shake her hair.

To spy the girl
steady on the cliff
she guards a boat
where sea roses bloom
honorably for self and man.

She whispers in his storm
“Let me be.”
Forever wayward
in search of soul
yet able to find her way
back home.