Salt whistling through my hands
took my papers, like
sails full, fluttering higher, until
at their height
they unfurled
a flock of seagulls
passing on the wind,
ink from tip to tip.
And as sailors look to them
for guidance home
through the fog,
I looked to them
hoping they'd take me.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
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I can't believe how much better you made this. I don't even recognize it. You should keep writing poetry. Srsly. trly trly.
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