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 Aug 2016 Ben
Emma Elisabeth Wood
The blue-green ocean
spreads out like a fan
before us

our dry, sand imbedded
feet approach

we are timid birds -
uncaged

fearful of the gait
of our shadow

but sand is forgiving
and we step

inch by inch towards
the water

we are so close
that I can taste
the salt

brown seaweed
sticking to my
naked soles

what did we come
here for?

I wanted to see the sun
reflected on a liquid
mirror

I wanted to forage
and find

treasure

but we are stolen
by the waves

carried out across
the shore

we are made
of yesterday's
passion

our bare skin
wrinkling

with age

we have found
nothing but

ourselves

hopeless drifters, now
unclothed, unhinged

and tethered to

the tide
 Aug 2016 Ben
r
There was a girl
I used to swap paperbacks
and spit with, once
I fixed her wiper blades,
I remember the soft dead wings
on the windshield,  pretty
as you please

She was alone in her shoes
listening to something
that kept getting darker
and glowing like morning
on the oil spilled under her truck,
she was drifting through
the rosewater of her soft red hair

She only wanted to be rolling
off a swollen river, sliding
out of a clean slip, turning
over in a deep sleep, trailing
a shimmering thread, hiding
under a pile of wet leaves

Then there she was sailing
in her river of blood,  going
white and smelling like smoke
from a struck match behind
closed blinds on a ceramic floor,
a white blouse red as a sharp knife
collecting the light of mourning.
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