Glass-bottom boats scanned warily by the far-off sun, <br />A lidless eye reflected on the waters of the frigid sound. <br />Mud by the shore molded by the imprints of many <br />Sightless lovers sucking wounds from their hands. <br /> <br />Their taste intensified by blindness, their pupils never diminishing <br />Though immersed in the brightness of a saffron field. <br />The shallow sky was a blunt edge to everything that grew: <br />Seasons of wind-burnt wheat-stalks transformed to saw-dust, <br /> <br />The irate ghost of a worker dragging his rake under the overhang of sad willow; <br />a slight tremble of tangerine water as the sky could no longer hold its own color. <br />to the receding horizon of fallen leaves. <br />How quickly we are absorbed into this bright powder of air, <br />Awakening our allergies to the rash flight of birds, <br />Drowsily feasting on the frenzied darkness among us. <br /> <br />Evening sprinkled with ash, deepening its hue about the keels <br />Of sinuous currents, the amber buoyancy of debris.<br /><br />MARINA GIPPS<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/above-the-great-sound/
