So, this is an oldie, probably from well before 2007 (my immediate archives only go back so far) but sometimes it's good to revisit. Thinking of writing a new set of poems and, in going through my garden photos from 2015, found some of bizarre frost patterns which caught my imagination again. Don't ask me how I connected it to this poem, who knows how those synapses fire. New set will be under the working title, 'Summer Road'.
Arctic Tern
Dry creek runs in my veins
And the drumming blood
Beats in my brain
Can't escape this passing place
If we chance to meet
Offer me grace
Silver grit and oil sticks in the
crepe tread
Of my sandals again
Must be a summer road
Can't promise much
But my boat sails
On those oceans we sing
Like the stickers on the orange string
We'll throw our nets and sing
Strange lands unfolding
Scooped up in the wings
Of this Arctic tern
Feathers smooth in the skin
Flying over the ice cradles
Is how she begins
Dry creek runs in my veins
And the dust I bring
Will inflame
And your eyes will cry
With the beat
Flying across the seas
Until only the shadow of my wings
Is the structure of the tide
And I'm singing in your eyes
