We journey east to the emerald coast
On the kind whim of a man caught in moods.
The fall of Phaethon affecting him most,
He grows nearly peaceful over his broods.
Arriving at once, we breakfast with fish,
Communed with the fairies renting next door.
The Tumbler of Dreams, my only true wish—
The acrobatic sprite now starves no more.
At last the man cries, his mourning departs.
My almost-darling soars high above me.
Tranquility this hermitage imparts
While my heart beams, silent, in purity.
Coming back to our basin of concrete,
We laugh for a time with ghosts yet to meet.
Like
Share
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.