Brontides and Sad Times
As we walk towards invisible tides,
songs empty of promises persist
through coarse charcoal-charred sands.
Placid, over-grown sheep skulls hold me
accountable to take notice of decaying lands.
I feel at once free, but tied to the Earth I bask in.
These shifting weather-worn wonders
loan my thoughts to acceptance and sadness.
We return by safe passage to the comfort
of thin canvas and crafted, layered clothing
Skilled, white, brushstroke wisps on periwinkle canvas
dotted with flecks of celestial familiarity heed
our last speck of attention for the night.