Dreaming of the Beach in January

Jan. 14, 2004

The clouds stretch wide across the blue sea-sky,

not thick, but thinly spread out over miles,

and small and round, but pulled—so distant-high

in scattered groups of hundreds, almost files,

yet random just enough so that they seem

a white and bubbly sea-foam without roar.

They catch the edge of sunlight dull and gleam

as just below the surface, off the shore.

How I would like to be there jumping waves,

Letting the slow sun press me to fatigue.

But it is January. She who craves

the beach is only fooled by sky’s intrigue.

The winter wind is not always so kind

to bring a summer-picture to the mind.


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