I was riding that wave away from you
out into that no horizon blue
I was paginating the days away
Me and my keys...every seventh wave I'd get a word
I'd carry that word all sodden and precious back to my watery lair and
stow it with seaweed and collected rubbery hair
down in old silver chests old rusted locks old syllables crying to be let loose of their Neptune
patina I'd hoard found paragraphs, lumps located under fish school transluscencies, wordy
lumps I held under my armpit as I surfed the waves
I've been away sailing waves to the silky horizon
I've been collecting word treasure...at night admiring my beauties my bounty my word parade
By morning throwing them all away
out to the ocean
letting them drift to someone else's keyboard desert isle.
Surf, admire, stroke, dream, throw away.
The glory of riding the long writing wave.
(Photo by Susan, Spain)