The Wanderer

Crisp paper for words

angled under the rooms light

a beach soothed

by the ponder of hands

Eyes trace pages

on a brief strand of white

That strays to the swing of blue

Night wind follows

the waved warmth of covers

that hide

the sigh you almost sighed

the startle you almost heard

As a guitar player dissolves

in the sleek of an afternoon

a silken voice sifts

from the shiver of memories…

a wanderer that recalls

of the salve of oneself