A Morning Follows An Evening Poem by Charlotte Anna Witts

Peeling the sandals from my feet
Like the rind of a lime from its flesh
I fling them away, to their cushion of green.
Naked soles, naked soul
Sand greets the cracks between my toes
And I dive headfirst into my river of trust
my stream of words.
The promise of turquoise shimmers beneath the stare of the sun
with its peacock feathers as it swallows it whole.
Storm breath whips these curtains hastily closed
and all we have is a hint of salted tear
Aching recollection or the perfume of a dream.
Whose music pronounces these misgivings
then fled with the same haste as its disguise?
a seed held in the breath of an angel
You say I am that angel, dark and Diabolo.
But I place my own feet into the sand and surrender
River of words rocks like a cradle these weary bones.
I should have learned by now