You may not realize
that my house now lies;
where oceans once billowed with life,
but what I want you to know
is that late at night—
after everyone else
has drifted off to sleep—
I often watch from the upstairs window,
just beyond the moon glow’s reach,
as a phantom tide comes in
and my house becomes an island,
brushed by a warm
and ancient trade wind.
Then I remove my shoes
and softly steal away,
down the protesting stairs,
through the interrogating doorway;
walking silently along
the hissing grass lined path;
I come undetected to the water’s edge;
and listen to the tales
of the sojourning breeze.
You may be surprised to learn;
because I always go there alone;
I usually take off my clothes;
fold and arrange them neatly on the lawn;
enter the tepid water
and swim quietly until dawn.
Author notes
Written March 28th, 2004
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Great
This is a very cool poem. You've captured one of those magical private moments that we, the readers, are only allowed in through poetry. Great use of personification with the stairs and the doorway. You led me right to the waters edge with you. It's good to see you post something. It's been awhile. Thanks. -
Absolutely beautiful... Wonderful imagery here. Welcome back!! I have missed reading your work.
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This is really beautiful, I love it! So serene and perfect. I'm lost for words. An excellent poem, well done.
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