to chase elusive feather

there are many forms

of wind that carry

blow, upon

an ocean

in peace of whisper

drawn,

slow in sighing

at chances,

that were never taken

in fear such sea

does wave rejection lifted

on the arms of breakers,

and subtle breeze

that tangles kiss

among much greener kelp,

true tied in corded

stagnant depth,

of driftwood drenched

in sodden solitude,

as style

and the howl

of much deeper bite,

to crash

wildly to shore,

in echoes tasted

once or twice,

as passions drip

fires thundered lip

in bloodless longing,

for what once was right

in seasons sea

yet such is still

in reasoned gasp,

where all is none

in fright bereft, to give

soar to wing in specious wonder

and delight, verity

that water purrs

the beach with combs,

to sift the presence

for just one,

gentle stroke

ah, but water

she is wise in years,

and knows the reasons

for unshed tears,

where banishment

is self induced

as price for circle,

gained in truth

and weary

though this trail might be

she longs the breath upon her cheek

as moon to pull her tide,

in rhyme

yet knowing,

that such healing balm

in given bliss of blush,

must be truly sought

and so she waits

in patient grace,

for wind to smile light,

in liquid sought surrender

and spark this fire, from chill

as she knows in heart of tear

it is not her place,

to chase elusive feather