Granitic wavelets rolling, kneading sand
with pewter clouds adrift like ships.
Breathing bearded daisies falling into
softness, moistened by my failing songs.
A walk so gentle, daring is this wind
in gilded sheen, its being of my past
a longing for heroic dreams, a blight,
with weight of bleating cottoncandy-lips.
Your pinkness is of cumulus and sheep adrift.
Heaven still at rest, balanced on a grassblade
and canyons carved across my peaty eyes.
I’m being one with wisps of smoke – your voice
is dust, a rosary of brine and mist,
my shore between tomorrow and the past.
Today I am back writing to dVerse Open Link hosted by Grace.
A little experiment on writing a freeverse sonnet, some of the words I have picked up from Wales Visitation by Allen Ginsberg.