Wednesday, December 2, 2015


the last petals drop from the branches

a loon shrills through the fog

I watch people emerge from the damp

quiet with the intense fear of being alive

as the petals drape their shoulders

and the holy mist swaddles their forms

hunching through the blowing spray

on this gray beach on the edge of the stable sea

Content (c) 2008-2015 Philip Milito.

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