Important large tasks cleanly overwhelm the under-waters:
A park of warmth, ports of drink, words of boats and sounds;
I want the cats of the past to think back to their young existence,
And I wish them to see small, surprising toads in action underneath.
A terror lurks where white clothes are standing upright in the past,
The number of countries may be eight times the number in the past,
But the terror is in each watery region, whether arctic ocean or arabian sea,
Even the pacific ocean, and the ridiculous atlantic ocean.
To stay and mourn for the sea we wield white attire, alone in the dark
Monday, January 5, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: ocean