Three days later...
One thousand feet,
might as well be miles,
above the tides below,
I stand
on the dry, clumped dust
of a petrified landing,
of a precarious beach
Hanging where it does not belong;
Undercut by the wind,
by the rain,
One thousand feet
in the air.
I stand watching the sun
curving, rounding, setting
again and again
The same sun -- A different horizon
hours later...
Others watch,
Others stand
Upon sands as ancient
as those underneath my own feet,
Sands that I shall
never see
never touch
Two thousand miles,
as far as the sun,
away from me.
The Properties of Dust
1.
Tides
The Properties of Dust
2.
Storm
Oncology
Upon the Ruin
Golgotha
Demolition
3.
Watching a Woman From Across the Room
Moonrise
First Snow
Antarctic Whispers
Lines
Bedtime Prayer
4.
The Red Car
Something Lost
Slough
Home
After the War
5.
Lair
Love Poems
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Rubble by A. F. Litt
About the Creator
A. F. Litt
Photographer, writer, filmmaker, wandering lost soul...
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