sapiotextual

the wind
sculpted the dunes,
in daylight— 
allowing the sun
to paint, thru its light
the lucent spirit— of the dunes'
motley peaks and fevered breadth

the wind
carved the dunes,
at night—
allowing the moon
to sketch, thru its glow
the mystic soul— of the dunes'
muted slopes and cold blanket roll

the wind, the dunes, the sun and the moon

cocoa pod fell
in perennial grass refined
like bitter strife
discovering sweet life
like an old lean
imbibing a fresh spin
fully enriched
this bean

enriched

civil is not the word
when she draws her pen
that is mightier than the sword