Treasure Island

Francesca Martin

(Tampa, FL)

may seem closer than they appear


Alone,
on a soft towel
on an empty, desolate beach
I am strangely comforted
by the lack of thoughts
walking or sitting,
running or standing,
to each side of my crossed-legged pose.

But the sky is divulging its whetted lines
close by, but on some shore I cannot see,
or some water I cannot swim,
faintly widening across the horizon,
blending into the oceans expanse.
It has managed to showcase each shade of blue;
complacent clear shades
swirled by alligator mouth clouds gobbling water drops,
threatened only by the navy colors of warning
reminding me
even though the sea is flat as glass-
dark green, undisturbed, eerily perfect-
with a small fizzure,
Glass cuts.

I am at complete peace
with the danger of seeming stillness
quenching my minds eye
like the bland sand
comprised of those tiny, sharp shells
disguised as cinnamon powder,
coating my daring feet and hands.

Submitted: Tuesday, July 07, 2009
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