Treasure Island

Glen Martin Fitch


Wind stirs.
The shadows merge
and darkness spreads.
As silence swallows sound,
the flag pole tolls.
Fast Flash! Forked etching.
Stomach growling rolls.
One fleck. Grey spots.
A gust. Quick steps. Bowed heads.
Mist, drizzle, shower,
deluge, cloud burst roar.
A pounding volley
slashes reborn streams,
wind rippled lawn,
or gutter lake
that teems and churns,
and splashes in the endless pour,
as pelting bullets
pummel speckled panes
and arrows pierce,
spring crowns,
strew puddle rings.
Then spurting gutters,
black pools,
leaf damed drains.
Sniff pine, rosemary,
sopping wool that stings.
Drenched dripping boughs.
Street mirrors.
Fading marks.
Then sunshine!
Double rainbow arcs!

Submitted: Thursday, October 17, 2013
Edited: Thursday, October 24, 2013

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