I walk
under cornflower skies
in late August
shoaling waves
land on shore
and die with a whimper
leaving tendrils of foam
that sail the wet sands
the taste of salt sharp
on my lips.
there’s a boat far out
I feel small,
left behind
as I watch it disappear
over the horizon
Poetry
Ocracoke
[kmp_wild_engagement]
Larry is rolling towards geezerhood with a smile on his face. He has been everything from a door to door vacuum cleaner salesman to a restaurant owner. He currently works in real estate. His one true love has always been literature and he is thrilled to be writing poetry. He hopes you enjoy.
Visit Larry Houston's page