Frame
FRAME
Bleached white and black ash,
slight, multi-stemmed skeletons.
Stark, sere symmetry.
Cradled between burnt hills
the sea is a silver chalice.
PULL
The passing moon leaves a single dropp of water sleeping,
but awakens and animates an ocean of linked drops.
The waves claw for purchase and their wet shadows cling to clinging grains.
CONCENTRATE
Eighteen holes of golf,
menfolk give much good advice.
Focussed attention.
Fades. I collect some red leaves
and there's an odd saw-shaped cloud.
poem by Diane Hine
Added by Poetry Lover
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