PotbellyPleb

The Shore

Alone, a desolate island

Of soft, white sand blanketed

Over warmed toes

With the sea to bask in, 

The clouds to dab on firm canvases

An old world forgotten

A vacant contentedness

Names lost in the ebbing of tides

 

But there, a voice calling

Over rolling waves, a small boat

Pulls from that crystal harbor

She steps out, an ever-so present smile

Approaches from the shore

A familiar friend, she sits beside me

And gently opens a book

 

Two, lying together

Toes caked in sand, reading

With the sea to hum soft lullabies, 

The clouds to shade our pages, 

A piece of an old world

Quietly waiting

Her name both a soft reminder 

and a promise fulfilled

 

Stirring from a nap’s embrace, 

We stretch,

Close the book, roll my canvases

She stands, 

A looped arm offered

I take it, knowing

An old world awaits us

 

A boat untied, the sail breathes

Each wave rocking me to wakefulness

As I search the skyline

Knowing a few welcomed detours

lie ahead, I see her,

In her mere being

And I see the love that has come

To coax me from my shore again